Hey Helga
by eternallost
Summary: It's time to let go; they're on the way to college, after all. Will a succession of anonymous entries in the school newspaper allow her to do so? What will Arnold think of the girl in the paper?
1. Chapter 1

He had Lila, he had Ruth, and he even had that little bimbo down by the beach, heck that Football Head had the freedom to crush on any wholesome looking peach that he could set his eyes on. She was lucky enough that none had requited his love, although she sympathized with the familiar caustic un-fulfillment. She admired his ability to trust; anyone and everyone. To find the best and latch on will all his might, riding on that star that might lead him to the true love he deserved. She'd felt a guilty pride in eroding away at that, spying a second nature on dates like the April Fools' dance. She had felt a sort of resentment towards the boy with the little blue cap that parted his hair not quite down the middle. He had freedom. She, on the other hand, had a crushing fixation that consumed her waking and sleeping hours. At any time of day his calm, sweet, morale-driven voice would echo off the walls of her cranium, "I like your bow." It wasn't from the childish lips that had first uttered the phrase that would destroy her autonomy. No, it was from his sublime teenage visage, his head now the same distance from the floor as hers with a rough, unadulterated adolescence that sent her spiraling into her usual whimper.

A solid, warm figure knocked into her back, sent her rocketing towards reality.

"Sorry, Helga." Of course it was him, it was always him. And no, he wouldn't be whispering that way in her ear. Ever.

"You must have memorized the phrase by now."

"I know, I know, 'Move it Football Head.'"

She was caught off guard by his quip and her fevered response drew a small and slightly sly smile to his face. Some day she hoped to elicit the tooth-filled one that spread ear to ear. She nearly had to slap herself to avoid melting before his eyes. She had resulted to the more reserved tactic of pinching herself.

"You got that right, bucko." She corrected her guarded demeanor.

His smile grew as he shook his head and Gerald let out his usual noise of disapproval.

She fell back against the lockers when the flax haired boy of her dreams was out of sight. She had tried to be nice, but he just couldn't accept that as her personality. Perhaps she couldn't either. Now she was stuck in an in between relationship, not knowing whether the boy viewed her as a friend or enemy. Truth be told, she didn't know if she wanted to be either. She had always, would always, want so much more. She was tired but didn't know how to define herself outside of Arnold, the name she repeated several times a day; Arnold the statue she worshiped in her closet metaphorically and physically. It was about time, as she reluctantly recalled a letter from her shining example of a sibling teaching abroad.

'What you want isn't always what you need, little sister. The best things come when you aren't looking for them' and blah blah yaddah yaddah let's hold hands and sing kum ba ya. What was she apart from him? She shuttered to think of the _family life_ she had endured. She had worked part time at the Beeper, excuse her, 'communication device' emporium and that business was disappearing like hot breath on a cold window. Along with Bob's patience and Mariam's sobriety. She'd vowed to herself that she'd move out by eighteen, but she was feeling on her own much earlier. She had her independence, she'd give herself that. She sighed once again on her way to an advanced English class.

"You should think about publication, Helga." Good ol' Phebs knew how to cheer her up.

The smart, beautiful girl with the jock tall-hair boyfriend, it was hard not to be jealous. She had just been accepted to NYU as well. Helga hadn't applied. She hadn't even thought about it. Of course green-eyed boy was heading to the west coast where he could hang with all the harpes that would prey on his innocence, University of California, Davis. After graduation, where would the faces she had come to know and loathe go? Reinforcing her strength, she knew she had to let go. Maybe of everyone. If she dropped off the face of the earth would anyone notice let alone care? She could rebuild, after all, she had one hell of an imagination and knew how to dream big. Presidential big, once upon a time.

"Yea, yea." Helga replied, returning her attention to extending the spirals within her notebook.

"I'm serious, Helga. Phoebe pleaded, "If I become an editor after I get my degree, would you allow me to publish your work?

"Eh, I dunno…" She winced at the rejection she felt standing behind her whole life through. No wait; that was the kid with glasses and heavy breathing problem. How many times had she broken his nose now? Where was_ that_ kid going in life?

"I don't want anything showy."

"It could be in a little column off to the side."

"Tell you what Phebs, you become an editor and I'll write. All I ask is a little compensation, got it?"

Her friend smiled at her coyly. "No taking it back?"

"It's a promise."

"Well, I'm already an editor, of the PHS Times"

Helga stopped doodling, "You want my journal entries in a school paper?"

The teacher briefly stopped the lesson to look in their direction, his mustache twitching in discontent.

Phoebe broke the silence announcing, "Anyone who would like their writing in the paper can submit samples to me, Mr. Schwartz. Sorry for the interruption."

He winked at his star pupil and returned to the board. Helga's stern look remained.

"We can do it anonymously, come on, I know you have a bunch of thoughts you want to express before graduation." Her heart wretched at the thought of everyone she knew flying off to different ends of the earth. Maybe this was what she needed, a way to let it all go with a weekly column.

"Alright, if it'll make you quit your yapping."

"Quitting." Phoebe responded with a broad closed smile on her lips.

###

Helga went home that night, not bothering to announce her arrival to the sound of Bob yelling at the TV and the blender whirring for Mariam in the kitchen. Home, sweet home. She climbed the stairs and flopped onto her childhood bed, glancing around at the dolls that never really reflected her personality. She flipped over onto her stomach and withdrew a pen a spiral notebook from the dresser drawer. They always seemed more personable than a laptop. Then she wrote; about the boy she based her life around, the one that would have been an apostle in another time, the emptiness of existence when returning to the reality of abuse by abandonment without him. A drop on the line paper made the purple ink bleed into a pink color. The mantra repeated, "I like your bow." She shut her eyes tightly accepting the feeling of loss as she curled into herself, every muscle tight with focus until she relaxed and let it go. "I like your blue hat." She exhaled the reply she had always wanted to say.

###

She returned to school the next day with a crumpled sheet of paper in her hand, once again dodging the Shortman that had a locker near hers.

"Morning, Helga." His distant cheeriness lingered. Her greeting was no different than the one he would give his least favorite teacher.

She sighed, "Morning, Arnoldo." He paused for a second, watching her take out her books.

"Is something wrong?" Curse his good natured intuition.

"No sir-y, life is just peachy." She stuck out a stiff upper lip.

"Your eyes, they look kind of swollen."

"Yea, well, staying up all night watching monster truck madness will do that to you, what can I say."

"Helga..." He looked up at her from furrowed brows as he placed a hand on her bicep. Don't say my name like that. Her insides were quivering and she felt a stinging at the corners of her eyes. His touch was burning into her. "If you ever want to talk..." She wanted to stay in that moment forever with his attention and hands on her, but she knew nothing gold could stay.

She slammed her locker to change the mood and the breeze caught the crumpled paper, sending it drifting to the middle of the hallway.

"I'll get it." He prompted. As he reached the paper her hand was swiftly on top of his. For such a rough girl, it was surprisingly soft with a delicate bone structure. He looked at her flushed complexion. Something was definitely wrong.

"Didn't your grandpa ever tell you not to touch what isn't yours?" Her voice was struggling to be strong.

He thought back to a time when he told her subconsciously, 'I know you're not as bad as all this.' Why was she trying so hard to make everyone hate her? He thought back to her feminine hand and decided that Ol' Betsy had actually never been put into practice.

"You're right." He agreed, placing his hands in the air. Maybe his touching had set her off. She stuffed the faintly pink crumpled slip into her jean pocket as he could faintly smell something like fresh linen. A surprisingly homey aroma from someone he wouldn't expect to do womanly chores. He chastised himself for building assumptions. He watched as she stood up and turned to go to class. When did she stop looking like a fifth grader? He paused and reflected on himself, feeling odd at examining Helga G. Pataki.

She turned, "Hey, Arnold, t-thanks." She spoke quietly through gritted teeth. Perhaps he only knew her on a surface level after all.

###

'Quit beating so loud, it's time to let go!' She scolded her heart internally as she walked into her first period English class five minutes after the bell.

Mr. Schwartz turned towards her and announced the obvious, "You're late."

She had never been good with authority, perhaps due to the lack of a proper role model. Besides, this teacher like many others only paid attention to the way kids sat and spoke and behaved. He didn't care about cultivating creativity, he wanted obedience. If Wordsworth were in his classroom he'd be in the corner with a dunce cap. She'd never waste her time or ability on such a-

"Mr. Schwartz, she was just helping me print copies of the PHS Times. I could get you a note, if you like." She could never lie like good ol' Phoebe.

He addressed the raven-haired, petite girl, "That's fine, dear." Then the warmth disappeared as he returned to Helga, "Take your seat."

Take it where? She wanted to continue the banter based off of her English teacher's improper choice of grammar, but she resigned with the screech of metal on linoleum. When he was busy yammering on, she shoved the crumpled paper onto her friend's desk. Phoebe began to unfold it in her lap, pausing at the stains.

"Couldn't help it; was eating a burger as I wrote." She shrugged. When Phoebe nodded, she remembered how transparent she was and she felt like a screen door. She shivered at the breeze of realization. It was okay, she told herself, she was letting go. Then another stain appeared on the faintly pink page. "Phebs-"Helga whispered as her easily stirred friend was falling apart in the middle of class. She'd never been in a position to comfort someone before, what should she do with her hands?

"It's beautiful, Helga." She looked over with a genuine smile and stood up with her arm raised. The teacher looked startled and confused. "I just wanted to announce that today's paper will have a piece from one of the greatest poets of our generation." The class turned to stare. "And I hope that this will continue until the end of our time here and beyond." Helga fought against the constricted muscles in her throat to swallow. She could feel the air around her heating up. As she put her head down to feign napping, she basked in the praise that had been absent her whole seventeen years.

###

"You heard about the freaky poem in today's paper?" Gerald asked his long term friend at lunch.

"Freaky as in creepy?" Arnold raised an eyebrow along with a vegetable burger. He found that he saw his pets' faces whenever he tried to eat meat, so he quit trying.

"I don't know man, it brought my girlfriend to tears!"

"Really?" He felt a bit of intrigue, not that he was that into writing. He was more of a history man, himself. However, he was interested in what was able to move people. "Let me see!" The plaid shirted boy leaned over to seek the excerpt under his friend's elbow.

"Alright, alright." Gerald shuffled over.

As Arnold read over the lines he felt like a person was talking to him, specifically. Did everyone feel that way? That person in the paper was trapped and asking for help. But when people came up to the cage, they left without unlocking the door, and never came back. It made him feel kind of hollow and nostalgic somehow.

"Need a tissue?" Gerald nudged his buddy.

"Huh?" When Arnold glanced up he could feel a stinging in his eyes. Was it that easy? "Nah, it's just dry in here." He swallowed feeling bereft. Before, it wasn't like he was feeling anything. He had strived to show the world the best in people, like his parents would have wanted him to. Where did this confliction come from? Was it because the person in the paper was saying humanity didn't have it in them? He felt a familiar agitation.


	2. Chapter 2

Everyone had it in them, he assured himself. Anybody, even Helga G. Pataki, could be able to be a decent human being if they wanted to be. His stomach flipped at the thought. Did he feel guilty with associating her with the coarseness of humanity, or was he unsure of her classification? Maybe it was because she had been one of the only sources of agitation in his life. He couldn't understand why someone would be so mean. A few glances at her family members had allowed him to blame it on upbringing. Yet, whenever another source of tension came into the picture it always seemed to disappear with her presence. Perhaps she felt she had ownership of the right to pester him. He choked on his milk at the thought.

"You okay, Arnold?" Gerald patted him on the back with one hand, a french fry in the other.

"Yea, I'm fine." He took a breath as the bell rang for the next class.

"See you after gym." They exchanged their usual hand greeting and went on their way.

For Arnold, it was time for history. As he sat in the second row, glancing out the window at the cars below, he could hear Lila faintly chatting with the girls about how she was ever-so excited for the weekend. He used to have a crush on her, but that's just what it was. Her constant ignoring and reinforcement that there was no like-liking there had let him down. After taking off the blinders, he saw around eighth grade that it was the idea of her that he loved. The new group of friends she had made in high school demonstrated who she really was beneath the girlish charm and braids. Now Helga; that was a different case. Her appearance of pigtails and a pink dress would suggest someone capable of nice conversation. The undoing of her exterior came as soon as she opened her mouth and waved her fist. So, why would she dress like that in the first place? These days she maintained her girlish pink attire, usually with dark jeans and what he could swear was the same bow she had worn as a kid, but it was now used as a headband with her hair down. Why would she keep that raggedy thing? It was fraying at the edges. Did she not have enough money with Bob's empire falling apart? No, to have it all these years, there must be some significance to it. There must be some reason she dressed the opposite of how she behaved.

"Arnold." A feminine voice interrupted his thoughts. "I would appreciate it ever-so much if you would be my partner."

"Huh? Oh, yea. Sure." He came back to himself, feeling off about his daydream. The other girls were tittering in the corner. He knew that she had likely told the others of his past affections. Maybe one of the girls had made a bet about something. He sighed, he'd rather deal with Helga's spitballs, at least the attacks were straightforward. What was with his examination of her today? Was it because her eyes looked as pink as her shirt?

"Arnold." Lila batted her lashes. He glanced over to look at her open stationary.

"Lila?" He asked confusedly.

"It seems Mr. Wilson has placed the assignment on the board and I would be ever-so grateful if you would write the first answer." Her catchphrase that used to be smooth as oil was beginning to coagulate. The gears in his brain were grinding against one another.

"Sure." He reluctantly agreed and began to jot down the answer.

"Very good, Arnold. Oh my, another question came up so quickly! Won't you be a dear?" She put her hands up in mock prayer.

"Isn't the work supposed to be split evenly?"

"I would, Arnold. I really would, but I was playing tennis yesterday and my wrist has become ever-so swollen." The 'change oil' light flickered on as he breathed out and continued working. "Wow, Arnold. That sure looks great! The only thing we need now is that conclusion paragraph."

Arnold's brows furrowed as he saw the group of girls craning their necks in his direction. They swiftly looked away when they saw his eyes. "I'm starting to think your hand is fine, Lila." Arnold stood up. "You can write the conclusion yourself." She blushed at being caught in her game. "I used to think you were special." He whispered down to her. "But if you have to define yourself through other people, you'll never stand out."

He motioned to Mr. Wilson that he was heading to the bathroom as he walked out without plans to return. Another source of agitation. Where was the girl that would drive it away? He was walking through the empty halls as she appeared, sitting among the line of waiting chairs outside the principal's office.

"Helga?" he felt a bit startled, as if she had responded to his call. She removed the headphones from her ears.

"A-Arnold?" She seemed startled as well. Then her lids lowered, "Don't tell me you're..."

"No! No." He put up his hands in defense. "I just needed to take a walk, that's all."

"Living life on the wild side." She jibbed. He rolled his eyes. "What's got you so miffed, golden boy?" She leaned forward, forearms on her thighs.

Why was she so interested? "This... girl." He guarded himself.

"Girl troubles, eh?" She sat back. "Is it... one you like?" Her voice hitched. Maybe she felt awkward about relationships.

"Nah," he decided to put her at ease. "I mean I used to, it's Lila. She can be a real pain these days." Her eyebrows (yes, they were now somehow distinct and thinned out over the years) went upward as she carefully observed him for a moment. He looked down, feeling a bit anxious under her examining gaze. Then the tension broke with her loud laugh. Was it him or did she seem relieved? She had always needed a laugh, but he had hoped that after middle school it would be no longer at his expense. This one seemed different from those before, somewhat more genuine, not forced or mocking.

"Congratulations Football Head," She smiled, "You've seen past her farce."

"Um, thanks." He felt a little lighter with her approval. She patted the seat beside her. He sat down, willing to be a part of the strange encounter.

"What pulled the wool off your eyes?"

How long had she known? "Well, she kind of acts like a sheep."

Helga snorted and he laughed with her. "I see what you're doing there, playing off my words. You're a regular Robin Williams."

The words that were normally laced with caustic sarcasm were now assuring. Did it have something to do with her predicament? "What about you Helga, why are you outside the office?"

He felt bad for taking the smile from her lips. She twiddled her thumbs. "You don't have to talk about it." He placed a hand on her back to comfort her, only to remove it after her slight twitch in response. Maybe he could work with her more on the basic human interaction that seemed to be lacking at home.

"I just don't get along with teachers too well." She tossed a hand in the air. "None seem to be able to deal with my personality like good ol' Mr. Simmons did."

Arnold nodded, "Yea, he was a good guy."

"Good, but too much of a whimp if you ask me. And when Phebs isn't there to stop me, I kind of just say whatever's on my mind."

He felt like he was untying the bow on her head, somehow Helga Pataki was opening up to him with the same vulnerable auroa she admitted when they had tangoed eons ago. He liked it, but it was only a small fraction of who she was. "I admire that you can speak your mind." He admitted. "I could never do that."

"Well, why not?" Her head tilted as her hair cascaded over her headphones. Somehow he was feeling a bit shy. He had never really been open about things that wouldn't help other people improve.

"It just wouldn't help anybody." He reaffirmed. She seemed to be looking into his soul,

"It would help you."

"Pataki, get in here!" Their conversation was interrupted before he could reply. "Nice chatting with you Football Head." She smirked.

"Helga, don't..." He looked concerned.

"I ain't one for gossip." She picked up her monogrammed bag. "Your secret's safe with me." She assured as she disappeared behind the marbled glass and plywood. He could hear the volume increase behind the door.

Gerald had called him a bold kid, he believed that term truly belonged to Helga.


	3. Chapter 3

Students were already lined up at the door as the final bell rang. They flooded the hallway, navigating their way through the crowd towards lockers and buses and bikes, as if on tracks. Arnold gathered his things, noting that the girl that he had an interesting conversation with earlier in the day was not at her locker.

He walked down the brick steps at the entrance, meeting Gerald at the bottom of the stoop. It was a beautiful Spring day in the city; buildings serving as trees to capture and block the sun, but its effects could still be felt on the streets below. It was about sixty-eight degrees, a welcome release from the harsh grip of winter.

"The lady and I are headed to the park to soak up some sun. Care to join?" Asked the not as tall-haired boy. He had significantly cut it freshman year, and resembled his older brother much to his chagrin.

"Nah, I think I'll take the long way home. It's nice but I've got some work to do." Arnold could tell that the couple was in need of some alone time and he could always hang out later.

"By the way," said Gerald as he hooked his friend with one arm around the shoulder, "I certainly wasn't going to bring this up, but Phoebe's been on my back about a certain mutual acquaintance." Arnold felt his stomach tighten. "I know, I know." He responded to his friend's reaction, "But I heard you two were chatting it up today, and I thought you might help her get home?" He put a hand over his mouth and whispered, "The girlfriend's watching me right now, so I'd figure I'd ask. But, if you hold your stomach and run, I'll say you had some health issues. Wouldn't hold it against you."

Arnold laughed at the suggestion. He wasn't trapped, he hadn't even been asked by the girl herself. This was his choice to make, and that helped.

"Yea," he replied as he glanced at the cumulus clouds above. "I think I will." Gerald looked incredulous for a moment, then patted his friend on the back.

"You know, she said she saw something between you two. I told her to get her glasses checked." Arnold stood still, noticing a humming warmth in his ears. "Later, Arnold!" The boy waved as he met up with the other half of his one and only relationship.

_Wouldn't it be nice to find one person and that's it. _Arnold thought as he sat on the cement, to the corner of the bottom stair.

Helga got out five minutes late. Great, she missed her bus because that crummy bald guy in the big suit couldn't stop flapping his gums, criminey. Her heart stopped as she opened the door and saw the back of a familar-shaped head atop broad sloping shoulders covered in flannel. He was sitting on the bottom stair. The overwhelming urge to proclaim her poetic devotions was quelled as she swallowed a spoonful of self control. _Time to find yourself, not lose yourself in that guy. _She pushed herself forward down the steps, trying desperately to pretend he was just some pigeon pecking for bread.

"Helga!" He called to her in a sweet, upbeat tone. My, that pigeon had a beautiful song. Were her delusions becoming auditory? She decided to drown it out with her headphones when a hand stopped her at the wrist. Her eyes widened as his deep green met her blue. There was a tenderness she'd never seen, or felt, directed at her. It was like a visual hug. Man, he was making this hard. Typical Arnold, playing her like a fiddle without even knowing it. And yet, that look helped her fight the urge to revert to the swatting and yelling that would drive him away.

"...Yes?" Her voice was a little gruffer than she would have hoped. He removed his palm and she could feel the breeze pulling him from her skin.

"Ger-" No, that wasn't the right way to go about this. "I thought that I might walk you home today."

She felt her knees wobble as she struggled to play it off by leaning against the building. "Me?" She squeaked.

"Nobody else around." He shrugged.

True, Phebs had plans. Was this one of them? "Don't tell me that any small Asians cornered you into doing this."

"No." He smiled. "My choice."

With her increase in heart rate she couldn't help the suspicion. He obviously couldn't come to like her over the course of a day. "Why? What's the catch?" She crossed her arms.

"Well, remember the Scoops place where I had to get you sundaes before?" She vaguely recalled the rouse.

"Yea, sure."

"Since I waited, you're buying." He turned to lead the way on the sidewalk.

What, was she just supposed to follow him around like a lost puppy?

"Come on," He turned to urge her. "Or by the time you get there it'll be melted."

"Alright, already." She spouted as she sprinted up to meet him. "Since I'm paying," She quipped, "you get to carry my bag."

"Fair enough. Shouldn't be any books in there any way." He smiled at her slyly.

She stood and examined the enigma before her. Deciding not to seek the answer to the puzzle, she merely tapped him with her bag.

"Hah, I guess there's some in there after all."


	4. Chapter 4

Their conversations became fewer after that shinning spring day, mostly because neither knew how to address one another in a different way than the pattern that had been established over the years. What was clear now though, was both knew the other was capable and possibly wanted to make a positive connection for one reason or another. It had been several weeks, and the excerpts from the girl in the paper were slowly becoming a subject in daily conversation. Much like Catcher in the Rye, people saw what they wanted to see. Some thought that the writing captured the spectrum of man's emotions; others passed it off as some act of teenage against and rebellion that could be accomplished by anyone with a pencil. No matter which side you were on, the girl in the paper was there. Helga held no regard to the goings on around her, trying to distance herself from school and all the participants within it. In fact, to aide in the process of moving out of Bob and Miriam's house of marital bliss, she began working part time after picking up an application the very same day Arnold had taken her for sundaes. That day, etched in the folds of her brain, felt like a beginning and an end. It seemed a fitting farewell to the boy that had worn out the strings in her heart. No tune would play as sweetly as his had before, but life goes on. She heard that it happened to everyone, first loves never work out and you're never the same. But that makes you who you are, in part, anyway. She was wiping down the counter as the aforementioned football head and his basketball-uniform-wearing companion walked into her shop. Her heart leapt, but it was able to calm itself more quickly these days. They hadn't seemed to notice her in her apron and ice cream themed 50's dress. Yea, she felt silly, but it was part of the gig. She looked back towards the sink; her coworker nodded his head towards the table, asking her to take the order. Of course. She clung to the hope that maybe if she acted like she had before, as Cecil, she wouldn't be recognized. "What can I get you?" She asked, the pad of paper blocking her face. The first thing that caught Arnold's eye was the bow around the waitress's midsection. It was tied tightly over the apron, he wondered if he'd even seen anyone with such a small waist before. Wait a minute,, was he developing a thing for bows? It seemed like he always had an image of one at the back of his mind these days.

Gerald was looking at the menu. "I could go for a chocolate swirl with some sprinkles. Waffle cone."

There was a sound of pen on paper. "And for you?"

He tried to get a sense of her face hidden by the pad, framed by golden hair tied up in a ponytail. Was she a freshman in college? She looked a bit older than him with her feminine figure. She was certainly taller than him with those black pump heels on.

"I'll have what you're having." He said in a voice that felt far from the ideal in his head. Gerald looked up from the menu and raised an eyebrow. Arnold chastised himself and corrected his behavior, "I mean what he's having, the same thing. Yea."

The head nodded in acceptance, ponytail bobbing with the swish of fabric as the waitress went into the back room.

"Sounds like you'd like some of her." Gerald laughed.

Arnold looked out the window and said in a low voice, "I have no idea who the girl is. I didn't even get a look at her face."

"Maybe she's another Ruth, or Lila."

"If that's so, I don't want any part of it."

They sat in silence. "You think that writer in the paper is a girl?" Gerald started over.

"Huh?"

"The anonymous one. Phoebe's the editor so she has to know who it is. She doesn't have many guy friends, and the ones I know wouldn't write like that."

"Maybe it's someone you'd never thought of, like Stinky Peterson."

"I hear he really bites at poetry." They both laughed loudly.

Helga couldn't bring herself to go out there after hearing the conversation through the serving window. "Hey, buddy!" She whispered to the guy at the dishwashing station. "Think you can deliver these to that table?" He shrugged his shoulders and returned to his chore. Helga breathed out, blowing the bangs out of her eyes. _Be strong_, she urged herself, you're over it. _You'll probably never see these shmoes again after they go to college_. She felt a pang at referring to her once beloved in such a manner, the truth of the matter also left a burning in her heart. _Get going, Helga ol' girl_.

Holding a cone in each hand, it was fairly impossible to hide her face. She accepted the fact and kept repeating the logic that allowed her to not run in fear back to the comfort of her closet of prepubescent obsession.

"Here you go." She spoke clearly with a service smile on her face, feeling like she was watching from outside herself.

The faces that looked at her in return were vacant. For a second she felt like she was in one of the dreams where she was naked at school, only she looked like a fifty's housewife. Her ears were burning despite her efforts. _Say something!_ She didn't know whether her internal voice was screaming at her or them.

The boys exchanged glances and Gerald was the first to reply casually with a smile in return, "Thanks Helga." She could practically feel his ulterior motive of keeping Phebs happy. "I didn't know you worked here." He continued the conversation while Arnold silently accepted his ice cream.

"Oh, you know, gotta pay for the things you want in life."

"I hear ya."Gerald responded, returning his attention to the ice cream at hand. Arnold looked like he was melting it with his eyes. Hadn't she been nice? What did she do to deserve the wall he put up? Forget it. It wasn't her responsibility.

"Listen, love to chat, but I've got a dishwasher with a mean look in his eye that needs some tending to." She tried to be cordial, but what did that ever get her, really. Her heals clacked on the linoleum floor on her way back behind the counter.

"Not a Ruth or Lila." Arnold whispered to his friend.

"Not like you were looking for them anyway." Gerald smirked.

###

Arnold lay on his bed that night, looking up at the stars through his glass ceiling. It was true; he wasn't looking for that type of girl as Gerald had said earlier. He had seen many girls looking innocent and wholesome or beautiful on the outside, but their insides had never turned out to be a perfect reflection of who they portrayed themselves to be. His whole life through, he had tried to meet that standard himself, but he found that he was slipping; especially when he was around Helga G. Pataki. Her behavior was pulling him outside of himself and making him look at his person as if it were a mask. Who was he really? Was he the kindness and peace that he sought to portray, or was he the boy who playfully sought revenge and could joke in a sardonic tone and seek sweet selfish satisfaction? A younger, more naive Arnold would have said that there was no way that those two personalities could exist in the same person. Experience was really the only way to learn otherwise. He closed his eyes and tried to meditate. He thought back to elementary school and classroom chatter about soul mates. If he truly had one, he knew he couldn't spot her by looks alone. In truth, what would her soul look like? It would have to be the yin to his yang, someone he could comfort in ways they couldn't comfort themselves and vice versa. If he was outwardly kind, they would be inwardly so. If he couldn't express his feelings, she could. That person... That girl in the paper was like that. He had decided based on Gerald's observations and the feminine format of the poetry that it was most likely a girl. She was a unique girl, one that he never would have known if he'd been judging by appearances alone. Suddenly his track of thought came back to him, if her words were deep, had he been shallow? Could the image that he had tried to project of all that was right in humanity been a contradiction of itself? The girl in the paper was pulling off his blindfold of willful ignorance, and although necessary, it felt rude to be taken from that comfort.

###

The school newspaper was neatly stacked outside of the office the following day. Arnold was hesitant but curious as he felt the fibers beneath his fingertips. He, along with others legs outstretched in front of their lockers on this Friday morning were delving into the stories. Arnold was seeking answers in the verse has he skimmed the latest entry. There it was- an ode to a trusty old bow. It could have been about hunting, but there in ink was 'always beside my ear.' He reread the line and saw pink. The hallway was spinning. He couldn't quite tell what people were saying.

"Breathe, Arnoldo!" A voice came out of the darkness along with a swift whap on the back.

He obeyed with a swift breath and saw spoke out of a dream, "I know you're not as bad as all that!"

There she was, the person he had always and never known. The pink ribbon had been ceremoniously removed from her head. Was he wrong? No, that poem had signaled an end to the trusted friend. He looked from one eye to the other.

"You alive?" She got on her knees after being in a bent position. HIS expression of concern turned back to the way it had always been when she knew he was okay, "You turned a funny shade of purple, should have seen your face."

He couldn't describe what he was feeling, aside from a sort of confusion and betrayal that someone he had known for so long had been someone else, and that the person whom he needed had been the one he never wanted before. He didn't feel instantly attracted or like the stars had aligned like all the sappy movies said. He just felt like he needed to get to know her to find out if she was who he thought she could be. He felt a little more open, to all possibilities.

"Where's your bow?" his voice was tight.

She put a hand to her temple, quickly removing it. "Are you loopy? Did you eat some of Harold's cooking from Home Ec?"

"You've worn it practically every day since I've known you."

She straightened up. "More reason to get rid of it, I'd say."

He leaned forward, "What changed?"

Her body straightened. "A whole heck of a lot."

She stood up and dusted herself off, "I don't know why I'm wasting my time here, looks like you're just fine, Arnold."

He glanced up at her in confusion. "No Football Head? No strange mispronunciation of my name?"

She crossed her arms and tilted her head. "What- is that what you want?"

"No...No." There was no use waiting for her hand to help him up, maybe she wasn't the girl he thought she could be. He pushed himself up, shifting his weight when he realized that his leg tingling from sitting on it. She swiftly caught him around the back, her hand under his shoulder. He blushed at the surprise contact. He thought that she hated touching people. Maybe she just hated to be touched. Maybe it was just his touch. But what did he ever do to her? His brain strained at the familiar conundrum.

She kept her hand at his back because he kept leaning into it. She noted the dampness through the flannel. "Sheesh, you're sweating like a pig and your complexion ain't much different. I'm taking you to the nurse."

He turned his head towards hers, "No, something's off with you, I'm taking you to the nurse." She laughed the same soft laugh he had heard outside the principal's office.

"Don't let me interrupt." Gerald smirked.

Arnold examined himself with Helga's arm around him, their faces turned together. They looked like teenagers saying goodbye to another outside the lunchroom. He never understood how the length of one period required such a dramatic scene. He shuffled back against the locker to break that image. Helga mirrored Arnold's wide eyes, then turned her head to give a fake, squinty-eyed smile to Gerald and walked away without a word.

"What was that?" Arnold's friend squeaked.

He swallowed against the dryness in his throat. "The girl in the paper."


	5. Chapter 5

Helga made her way to her usual boring English class, when she heard the teacher rambling on about some anonymous writer.

"This work publishes itself, and yet the he seeks not to be defined. Such humility should be exemplified by everyone in this school, not just this one student."

Student, huh? What made him so sure it was a guy? She slid into her chair beside Phoebe who seemed particularly fidgety about something today. The class went on for forty minutes of doodling before the Japanese girl leaned toward her friend and whispered frantically,

"I have a surprise for you, Helga! I'm so excited!"

"I can tell." She replied nonchalantly.

As the bell rang and students were bustling to gather their things, Phoebe slipped something onto her desk. It was a thick envelope with the NYU emblem.

"Yea, congrats on getting in there and all, but didn't you find out a while ago?" She shrugged her bag over her shoulder.

"Look at the name!" Her friend urged. And there it was, smack in the center of the envelope, Helga G. Pataki.

Her eyes widened, as she picked it up and flipped it over. "I didn't apply." Her voice pitched.

"Applying." Phoebe raised her hand, "For you." Helga tore it open and unfolded a fresh pressed acceptance letter.

"You've got to be kidding me." She said half sarcastically, half exhilarated.

"All I had to do was send in a piece of your writing and we got a rush reply!"

Helga starred at her possible future as her friend was nudging her out the door towards her next class.

"Please, say you'll go." Phoebe continued, "There's nothing left for you here. You can be so much more and you know it! I know it."

"Apparently you do." Helga spoke as she took her eyes from the page and saw herself reflected in her friend's glasses.

"Thanks Phebs, for everything." She smiled genuinely as she brought her in for a hug. The other day the only plan she had for her bright and prosperous future was working at the ice cream shop to save enough to move out of her childhood nightmare. Someone had opened the door and let some light into her life. Was this all because she had been able to set aside her obsession? Yes, she decided, with a clear head and a safe environment she could accomplish so much more, be the person that she dreamt she could be. But what did she truly want from life now that Arnold was out of it?

###

The aforementioned football head was on his way to History when he heard the gaggle of girls discussing the day's paper.

"Oh, Tommy looks nice in that football uniform."

"Don't you think that bracelet fad isn't in anymore?"

And as he was sitting down, "This writer's getting pretty popular."

"Yea, I'd love to meet the one that comes up with this stuff."

"I'd totally hang out with whoever put that on paper, sounds like some old grunge lyrics. Maybe they're in a band." "

Thank you, ever-so much, ladies." came a familiar feminine voice. "I worked hard on it."

He craned his neck to see Lila taking the credit.

A boy next to her leaned her way, "Are you Anonymous?"

She turned away in mock embarassment. "Gosh, I wouldn't want everyone to know."

In typical form, Arnold couldn't stand for the injustice and placed a hand on her desk. "That's because it wouldn't be true."

A bit of fear reared on her freckled face. "I don't know what you mean. Are you ever-so certain it could be someone else?"

"Yea, I think I am."

"Why won't you tell us then, Arnold?" Another girl joined in.

"I'm not sure that they want to share their identity. I mean, why else would they be anonymous?"

Some murmuring began behind him. Then Lila tittered, "Oh, Arnold I know you're bitter that I don't like you like you, but I didn't think that you would go this far to make me look bad."

His face flushed. "That's a childish phrase, a crush that has nothing to do with this. Besides, it's not like I ever loved you."

"I don't think you know the meaning of the word." She spoke sweetly, her hair tossing side to side with her head.

"I'm _ever-so_ certain that I'm one hell of a lot closer to knowing the meaning of the word than you are, Lila."

She froze at his change in behavior.

He didn't feel like himself, maybe he picked up the language from Helga. He mentally apologized to his parents as he turned to go to is seat. He could feel hot stares at his back. It was going to be a long remainder of the year in this class, especially if Helga didn't prove him right.


	6. Chapter 6

New life, new person, New York. NYU, huh? Who would have thought she'd get a ticket out of this town without even trying. That's right, all she had to do was scribble a little here, rhyme a few words there, and the world was putty in her hands_._

_Oh, who was she kidding?_ Thought Helga as she sat by the docks after school, as she clutched at the now-smaller locket she kept at her sternum to remind her of what she was leaving behind. It took a heck of a lot of sacrifice and determination, for the first time she felt proud of herself. She'd never been waiting for anyone else to pat her on the back, sure, but she'd never really stopped to pat herself either. And that was just as important. Was she going to tell her parents? Nah, she wondered if they would even notice her absence. She could make it on her own. She always had. Maybe someday, when she had a degree, and carved out a nice place for herself in life, then maybe she'd come back to this cage of a city and let them know what him 'em. Right now they didn't deserve to know, she affirmed as she watched her reflection lapping against the wooden beams.

It took letting go, she noted as she abandoned the wobbly image of herself and set her sights to a seagull in the clearing May sky. She had to abandon her true love, the only one she had ever known; the name that always beseeched her lips...

"Grandma always told me to look up, if you're feeling down."

"...Arnold." She spoke while still following the bird to its perching spot atop a mast of a small sailboat.

She didn't want to turn back, metaphorically or physically, not when things were going so well.

"Seems we've met at this spot before," He continued as he cautiously settled on the edge of the dock beside her, "Somehow it's always under less than perfect circumstances."

"Always." She replied distantly.

He had only come here by coincidence, trying to rid his mind of the stunt Lila pulled and the way he reacted. At eight years old, his way of thinking had always been "What do they want me to be?" which was only now transitioning to "Who am I becoming over time?" and Helga was partially to thank for that. So was Lila. The experience of disappointment and feeling guilty over not living up to what his parents would have wanted him to be had made him seek avoiding bad behavior. But there were some cases where that immorality felt right. Helga was solely to blame for that one. Someday he hoped she'd take responsibility.

Seeing the curves of her back, he decided to play a little with that side of himself. "So I found out who writes those poems in the paper."

She straightened up and her eyes lost their glassy sheen. "You did?" She turned to look at him for the first time. She really was easy to read. It was kind of... cute. He couldn't believe he was thinking that, but another part of him couldn't believe he hadn't noticed it before. Maybe he just hadn't been looking at her properly over the years. He could have figured out so much more.

He took a bit of guilty pleasure in watching her squirm. "Yea, I've known her all my life."

She swallowed hard, "Have you?" Her voice was unintentionally high.

He nodded as he leaned closer. "Do you want to know who it is?" A red sheen spread from ear to ear. What did she have to be embarrassed about? She was a great writer. He almost felt bad. "It was Lila."

He could see her visibly sink as she turned to look back at the bay, "Lila." She exhaled through closed teeth. "Little miss perfect, loved by millions, of course."

Now he really felt bad. He sighed. "We both know it's not her, Helga." He corrected soberly, trying to recapture her gaze.

She gave him a side glance, "Then why'd you say it _was_, Football Head?"

He somehow felt reassurance with that phrase. "She said it was her." He shrugged.

"Really?" She angled her head.

"Yea." He replied, looking at the wooden planks. "I tried to get her to tell the truth, but she kept up with the lie."

The only sound was the water against the dock.

"How would you know it's a lie?" She spoke slowly, carefully.

"I told you, I know the girl that wrote them." He smiled sincerely.

"Ooh, I'm not sure you do." She shook her head, avoiding that golden glimmer of hope in her childhood.

"So you admit it's a girl?"

"Admit?!" She threw out her arms, "Who said I was admitting to anything? How should I know who wrote those stupid poems."

"I don't think they're stupid." His head turned languidly side to side.

"You… don't?" She folded her hands in her lap.

"No, I don't. They made me feel something. Something that not many people are able to make me feel."

She turned towards him in curiosity.

"At first, I was agitated. I thought that it was insulting the better parts of humanity. But then I recognized, there _are_ those bad parts to society, and that's what makes the good parts so special." They exchanged a smile. He glanced at his hands on the dock. He felt a knot in his stomach. "I also realized that I wasn't acknowledging those parts of myself, and I suddenly felt fake. If somebody is acting great all the time, that's not real."

"You aren't saying you're like Lila, right?" She spoke.

He sat in silent introspection. "We were kind of the same person outwardly. I guess that's what attracted me to her, she looked and behaved in a way that was so obviously nice."

She scoffed.

"And it made me _feel_ that way." He emphasized, trying to convey what he desired from those around him as he noted Helga picking at the wood on the dock. "But, I'm not sure if we were ever the same inwardly. I think she had a different motivation, and no matter how similar we were or are on the outside, that impetus has lead us to be completely different people today."

"This story have a point, Shortman?" She interjected.

He felt something stir in him at the use of his grandfather's term of endearment. "That's how I came to know the girl in the paper. At first I was looking for someone who would outwardly speak that way, but I was wrong. This person chose writing, something private, because it was their only outlet. They'd never express themselves or their _actual_ thoughts that way in real life."

"Why not?" She shifted her weight onto her right hand.

He was quiet for a moment, unsure. "What do you think, Helga?" He asked, mirroring her action on his left hand. "I can't quite figure it out."

"Then you don't_ know_ her, do you?" She stood up, brushing off her backside. He tried not to look.

"I really would like to. Know her, that is." He regarded her genuinely, entreating.

She felt a warmth at seeing that face, at him beneath her, looking up at the woman that she had always been. But he wasn't quite there yet. Her smile inclined. "So, maybe you have an idea of who she is." She led on as she turned to walk away, "Come back when you can tell me _why_ she is. Otherwise, you're wasting my time."

"I have one clue." He mentioned as the boards creaked with her every step.

She stopped and looked over her shoulder. "And what's that?"

"This is it." He said as he held a faded and fraying pink ribbon like one of the wounded pigeons he had cared for. It felt like his hands were cradling her heart.

She strode towards him, the creaking getting louder. "Where did you get that?" The words came swiftly as she fought not to tear herself out of his hands.

He rapped it around his ring finger and she kicked her inner eight year old for swooning. "I was walking home the other day when someone let it fly from the back of a bus window. Seems like they didn't want it anymore." He closed his grip around it as if he were holding her hand. "I think I'll keep it."

It wasn't so much a red thread as it was a pink one that kept them tangled in this mess. "Didn't know pink was your color." She crossed her arms.

"It can be."

She noted his eyes lingering at her shirt. She always had been an intuitive girl. "No." She sputtered, almost laughing, "No, no, no."

"What?" He startled.

"You're flirting with me." She exhaled looking back and forth between his green eyes.

He stood up, his hands in apology. "No, Helga, I- I didn't mean to."

"Didn't mean to or didn't want to?" She asked, feeling the air heat around them from the flush coming off of their faces.

"On second thought, don't. Don't look for a why, a what, a who; don't look into it any more. It's as dead and forgotten as that ribbon." Her heart was beating as the guards gathered at her walls. The planks were squealing at her exit.

He was hot on her trail. "I don't get it, Helga! You come so close and then you pull it all away. You're nice one minute and sending spitballs at my head the next." He clenched and unclenched his fist, "I feel like a yo-yo."

"You feel like a yo-yo? Hah!" She derided, "Poor Arnold."

"What?" He stopped, "What is it with you?"

"What is it with me?" She faced him on the sidewalk, pressing a finger into his flannel shirt. "You can look to yourself for that one, bucko." She almost had to slap herself for wanting to place the other four down and explore further.

"Me?" His voice hitched, "I've only ever been nice to you! Especially when other people were not!"

He saw her eyebrows move and her eyes swell with tears that never fell, as she whispered harshly, "You're answering your own questions."

He stood frozen in her enigma as he watched her break through a couple holding hands on the sidewalk. This new burning feeling in his chest wouldn't quit.


	7. Chapter 7

He always had the best intentions, even if he couldn't live up to this image that he had in his head. It seemed second nature to state that beauty lies on the inside, but how many times did he actually delve beneath the surface? After so many years he had been inspired by a reluctant guide that had once been the bane of his elementary school existence. Only now was he starting to see that her actions could have been purposeful to break him out of his ideal mold. Could she have had such a plan as a kid? At first he was doubtful, but her writing had such a hidden intellect. There was so much he didn't know. Arnold felt something like half wonder and half frustration as he walked into the boarding house to a heated discussion between Ernie and Mr. Hyunh about which meat to cook for dinner. Oscar's nervous laughter could be heard on the second floor, along with the distant sound of scattering hooves and paws. He found it interesting that in all of this racket he may have felt abnormal, but he never felt forgotten.

Returning to the image of the yin to his yang, Helga may have always had the normal type of family- but he had seen through the non-existent lunches packed and their brief vacation stay, just how forgotten she had been. Not to mention the fact that the only thing her parents communicated agreeably about was Olga. Arnold had often wondered what it would have been like to have a sibling, but after watching the way that Helga seemed to twist inside when her sister was near, he kind of felt grateful for what he had. He thought after her sister moved out, Helga would be more recognized by her parents. She did stop acting out as much physically, but her verbal quips ad attitude remained. He could deal with that much more easily, and he grew deaf to what she was saying after some time. He felt bad at acknowledging that fact, knowing now that it was likely a cry for help.

Lost in thought, he walked into his grandmother at the top of the stairs. "Sorry, grandma." He spoke as he examined her airplane uniform. "Why are you dressed like that?" He still asked every time.

"Why, it's May Day, Arnold." She said as she sent her arms outward, "Mayday! Mayday, we're going down!" She sent herself into a spiral, rising and falling.

"Oh, right." He acknowledged as an odd thought came to his mind. "Grandma-" He began slowly.

"Captain." She corrected.

"Captain, there's something, or someone, that's bugging me."

"Got a boogie on your tail?"

"Kind of... But now it feels like I want to get closer to her and- ugh, this doesn't make sense at all. Forget it." He turned to walk towards his room in the attic.

"You like her." His grandmother said clearly, with a twinkle in her spectacled eye.

"What? No. I'm just curious why she tormented me for years; and who she is, really."

"Your little mono-browed friend?" Grandpa stuck his head out from the bathroom, drawing a line across his forehead.

"Not anymore." Arnold smirked.

"Good move on her part." His head retracted.

"That girl has loved you her whole life." His grandmother spoke with a keen clarity.

"What?" He flushed, finding it hard to put the sentence off as part of his grandma's backward world. "What are you talking about? I'm pretty sure it's the opposite."

"No, today is May Day, Kemosabi." his grandma smiled as she rustled his hair and bent down to whisper in his ear, "But, for her, every day is Opposite Day."

His eyes opened wide.

"We should get that girl a new calendar." His grandfather's voice seemed far off.

_Could she be right?_ Arnold thought as he watched the old lady carting various pets around in the mock wreckage of a cardboard plane. He was about to shake the thought from his mind when he decided to look beneath the surface of his grandmother's absurd actions. He knew that she didn't have dementia, as some of the prospective tenants had whispered about. It was just a part of who she was, and underneath it all, perhaps she knew everything that was going on in the world but chose to ignore it. Was she bitter from the loss of her child? Had she been someone else before his parents left, never to be seen again? Her alternate reality often seemed better, lighter. However, true clarity and participation in the accepted norm seemed far and few between, so he couldn't probe her for more information. It would have to come from himself. Perhaps that was another meaning to her madness. The woman that celebrated the Fourth of July on Thanksgiving might in fact be the wisest one that he knew.

Helga had opened a door in his psyche, and he had to explore. His mind cycled back to his grandmother's words; there was a poignant sorrow and tenderness to them as if she had felt Helga's dejection. _Had he rejected her?_ Only when she acted out towards him. _Why did she act out towards him? _She had said something about answering his own questions. After all of his thinking, he ended up on the roof as the sun was fading west in shades of pink and clouds in hues of purple. The string of lights by the water tower began to flicker on as he took his seat at the old wooden picnic table. _What had he said?_ He was the only one that had been nice. _So why would she be mean?_ He laid out with a sigh on the wooden bench starring up at the darkening sky. He couldn't think like he normally would, he had to think like her.

For all that he preached about empathy, had he ever truly felt it for her? He closed his eyes, imagining the isolation and neglect and fear. He tried to think back to when they had first met. He began to dream. Somehow when he arrived at the preschool, he was covered in mud and drenched. Had no one driven him? How did he find his way here in the rain?

Suddenly, a girl with a sweet smile approached out of the darkness with a pink umbrella. It unexpectedly stretched out to shield him, he retracted at the unknown, but a soft voice came out, "I like your blue hat."

He grabbed at the part in his hair.

"It reminds me of a summer sky. It's my favorite time of year."

Even in the wind and rain he felt a glowing warmth that he had never known. He wanted to be nice to this person. They entered the school and sat at separate tables. The girl busied herself with some clay and he felt lonely, forgotten. He wanted that warm feeling again, so he threw his clay at the girl to get her attention. She turned around with an upset face and he felt bad, but not quite as bad as he did when he was a nonentity to her and everyone else. He didn't know how to elicit that smile as he had before. He tried to repeat his actions so he walked up to her during play time and decided to help her with the doll she had chosen. The girl seemed happy, and he felt it flow through him. Abruptly, a rotund, arrogant boy came over and insulted him for playing with dolls. He had felt this emotion before, he had to guard himself from feeling put down or hurt so he yelled at the fat boy and pulled off the doll's head. The boy ran away and he felt pleased. But when he turned to see the tears forming at the edge of the girl's eyes, he knew he was wrong. He was guilty. It was too late, that girl would never like him again. He was spiraling.

The Earth was still spinning when he opened his eyes. He acknowledged the emptiness inside him. But he felt hopeless to express the feeling as that little girl had, as Helga had. He couldn't let her carry on that legacy, he wouldn't. But how could he show her that she was not alone? Something was starting to break her of her old habits, and for some reason he couldn't name, he wanted to be a part of it. He wanted to hold that umbrella over her as he once had and compliment her... Her bow... That's why it meant so much to her. So why did she give it up? A panic struck him. _Was she giving up on herself?_ He jolted forward as she imagined the worst.

"Helga..." He spoke into the cooling night air as he climbed down the stairs of the fire escape to ensure that his fears were only in his head.


	8. Chapter 8

He wasn't quite sure of the time as he approached the old apartment building where he had once guiltily tucked Helga in after his involvement in her amnesia and waited for her mother to arrive home. He would never tell her about that other hint to her home life, when he fell asleep at the kitchen table and awoke to the sound of her mother stumbling in at midnight on a Tuesday. He felt ashamed that most of his actions came from selfish guilt; he hadn't invested himself further in correcting the situation. But what could he do really?

He would be there for her now, he assured himself as he walked up the cement stoop. Blood rushed to his head as he took a ragged breath and knocked on the door. _Please be Helga, please be Helga, _repeated in his head. The door opened with a creak as a heavy shadow was cast over him. Of course it had to be Bob.

"What do you want, kid? I'm in the middle of something important." He could hear the television blaring, lights flickering on the walls of the living room.

"I came to talk to your daughter." He spoke with conviction.

"Olga's been out of here for years. Besides, she's engaged. You're a little late." The graying man waved his hand in dismissal as he began to close the door.

Arnold stuck his sneaker in to stop it. "I'm sorry." He swallowed at his bravery. "I meant your other daughter, Helga."

The door still hadn't reopened yet. A look of confusion came over the broad man's face. "The girl?"

_Yes_, Arnold thought as his teeth clenched the one that you brought into this world and forgot. There are people who actually _want_ to see her.

"Yea, sure... She's upstairs." Bob spoke as he tottered back to his cave, "Close the door behind you."

"Thanks." Arnold acknowledged, as he passed Miriam in a comatose state on the sofa and climbed the carpeted stairs. Then, he saw her name on a closed door, held by a cloth doll. He laughed sorrowfully to himself, knowing that her parents had never asked her what she liked. _What did she like?_

Again he was at another door. There was something about them that made the adrenaline seep from his kidneys. He tried to knock in a polite way.

"Alright, alright. I'm comin'." He heard a voice from inside. She answered the same way as her father, "What do you want?" The door swung open to reveal a girl with damp hair that could still reflect the light in the hallway in golden hues. A pale pink nightie hung from her frame. She really was all girl in this room, it was hard to take in.

"Arnold!" Her voice piqued as he took a breath and turned around to face the stairwell.

"I'm sorry!" He exhaled. "Do you, um, have a robe?"

He could hear rustling behind him. "Sure, you come barging in to my house in the middle of the night and tell me what to do. That sounds healthy."

"I apologize, Helga, but I think we need to talk." His throat felt swollen. After some time he spoke, "Are you decent?"

"More decent than you'll ever be." She quipped as he turned to see her in a hoodie and pajama pants slipped over her gown; much easier for him to absorb.

"What brings you here, hair boy?" She commanded as she sat on her bed, "Speak." As she was combing the tangles from her freshly washed hair he could smell the floral shampoo, making him shift his stance.

He remained in her doorway. "Do you really like all this girly, pink stuff?" He asked awkwardly.

She blinked as the comb stopped. "It grows on you." The combing continued until she set the brush down on a bedside table. "But, that's not what brought you here." She gazed at him intently.

"You're right." He looked down. "I was worried, but it looks like you're fine. So I can go now." He gave her a concerned look, "You are fine, right?"

"Doy." She responded, "You're the one that looks like you're in need of some help."

He ignored her comment. "You'd tell me if anything _was_ wrong, right?"

She paused, grasping at something over her hoodie, near her heart. "Why should I?" She said softly.

"I'd like to be here for you," he took a step forward, "If you'll let me."

She laughed in the same manner he had earlier, "Sure thing, but it won't be for long."

He speculated on the worst meaning to her phrase. "Helga-" He came forward wrapping his arms around her in the warmest way possible, trying to evoke what he felt in his dream. "I don't want you to fade away."

She breathed him in like oxygen, like nitrous oxide, and she swam in it; feeling her eyelids flutter as she gave in to a moment of whimpering ecstasy.

As usual, she brought herself back to reality with the examination of his words. "Wait- why are you getting all mushy? Who died?"

He pulled away, facing her on her bed. "Well, I mean, I thought..."

She stiffened her exterior. "What, you thought because I got rid of some old bow that I was going to do the same to myself?"

"Well... Yea." He put a hand behind his head. "It was a defining part of you."

"Listen bub, your logic may be simple to figure out, but it seems that I'm sure not." She dried her hair roughly with a towel. "You don't have to worry your pretty little conscience about me; at least I know I'll outlive Miriam."

Arnold wanted to say something, but he couldn't find the words. He looked troubled; she felt the need to placate him.

"Look, what I'm saying is, I'm leaving this town." He looked up at her. "You are, too." She continued, "We both are. College is coming and you won't have to be bothered by my existence ever again." She put a hand over his. "Doesn't that feel good?"

He looked down at her soft, pale skin, feeling the warmth from after her shower becoming a part of him.

Hadn't he wanted this for so many years, to be free from the torment of Helga Geraldine Pataki? He had. He had wanted it so bad that he was willing to become someone outside of himself earlier on in life. But, just like a child doesn't enjoy punishment, he needed it. It was a necessary part of his development; it made him who he was today.

How did she become who she was today? Eloquence and intellect and pose were pouring from dark places within her that he had never known to explore. He couldn't let that become another mystery, another loss in his life.

"I doesn't feel good, Helga." He set his eyes on hers, "But, there is something that might make me feel that way."

She raised an eyebrow, as she began to formulate the words, his right hand was traveling down her chin, cradling the back of her neck and his lips were on hers instantly. The fingers from his left hand interlaced with hers as their lips parted in unison, tasting each other for the first time. She made a noise she never knew she could make as she pressed in harder, overwhelming him as she had once before. This time he liked it. He wanted to take his turn overpowering her, but she abruptly pressed him off. New emotions stirred within him; akin to hunger.

Her wall was up again, a last ditch effort at defense. But she would make it a strong one, for his sake, and her sanity. "Arnold," She spoke delicately as he examined her swollen lips. He had done that. "I can't like you. I don't like you." Her head shook solemnly. "You have to go home now."

He had just gone over the drop of a roller coaster. But he knew better now, he would have to figure out what he wanted and he would have to work for it, as hard as she had in her young life. "Of course you don't like me." He spoke over his shoulder in her doorway. "You love me." He smiled, "Don't throw that away too." He exited into the night, the image and feel of him engraved in her ever-conflicted heart.


	9. Chapter 9

Helga could feel herself begin to shake in the cold brought on by the absence of his presence. She looked down at her hand, still feeling the pressure of his fingertips and the sweat from his palm. So he had been nervous; did he plan to do that?

She tried to change her thoughts. Perhaps the chill came from her not yet being completely dried off. Only in her dreams had she envisioned meeting him in that state (she discounted the sleepwalking incident).

"Arnold." She began her soliloquy, "That living Buddha, that cocky little know it all." She stood up. "He has always pressed on despite my feelings, only concerned about his do-gooder agenda. How I hate what he has done to me."

She closed her grip around the fabric of her hoodie, pulling it off to reveal a smaller locket with a photo cut out of the high school yearbook of her once beloved. She flopped back down on her bed. "And yet," She gazed out her window onto the city streets below in hopes of catching his shadow. "He said it himself… Despite my efforts, I still love him." A smile of recognition played on her lips for a while.

"But what does that say about him?" She asked the cutout. "Would he have shown such passion if he didn't love me back?" She traced his image and swiftly closed the heart-shaped locket with a growing indignation. "Why now, after all these years? Why did he seek me out when I thought I had torn him from my soul and encapsulated him in the pages of the school paper?"

She pulled her knees to her chest and continued to stare at the closed locket. "I told him that girls like a guy who doesn't pay them any attention. But, I never thought that separating him from my life would bring us closer together. Maybe I took my own advice too late."

Her eyes stung as she thought of her impressionable object of affection. He believed in the best of people so easily. If a girl had a pretty face and she told him she helped at a soup kitchen, he'd be enamored in a second. How many sweet girls were there in California? She was sure that he was the type to settle down before anything happened. How young would he get hitched to the wrong girl? A tear was hot on her cheek. She knew he'd never leave, no matter how bad things got. "He'll be out of the game freshman year!" She let a laughing cry out to her bedroom walls. Even if the girl didn't like him, she knew how relentless he could be towards love. It was something they shared. Though she had steeled her heart, she knew there would always be a soft spot in her armor. She wiped her nose on her pants.

Where was she in his plans? He wasn't the type to have a summer fling. No, what she just experienced was probably _all _that she would experience, even if he lacked the foresight to figure it out. She had made the right decision, Arnold never was and never would be her responsibility.

##

As he walked home on the crisp empty streets he ruminated on his instinctive course of action. He felt like and unlike himself, as if he were watching from outside his body. He was unlike himself in the fact that he was acknowledging and indulging in parts of himself that had been long overshadowed by a sense of preservation, of upholding a moral code; the rules of which had been written and maintained by a child. He was like himself because these actions, no matter how different, felt right and as if they needed to be done. He wasn't hurting anyone, in fact, he hoped that his interaction with Helga would make her a happier person and help her to feel less alone. He slumped down on the boarding house stoop, recalling how fragile and feminine the toughest girl he knew could become in his hands. It was strange, and somehow exhilarating. But she wasn't a conquest. And yet, after he had acknowledged her feelings, he wasn't quite aware of his own. What was she to him? What could she become? He thought as he looked up at the pinpoints of light flickering in the night sky.

There were so many points in his life that had offered clues to her hidden affections and he had ignored them all. Looking back on it now, it all seemed so obvious. When she stopped wearing her hair in pigtails, she bore a palpable resemblance to the mysterious Cecile. He buried his head in his palms at his obliviousness. Part of him knew why he ignored her, and why he approached her now. She had always been strong and formidable, it wasn't easy to talk to her like it was to communicate with friendly, flimsy, and all-around-stereotypically-ladylike girls. Then again, they turned out to be open books and he often didn't like the story. There was no intrigue, even if there was a challenge. That's why it was easy to forget Ruth. When Helga stopped being mean, the stress of dealing with her quips diminished and his curiosity took over. He had even dreamt of her before, divulging herself to him when they were stuck in a partnership. He blushed, how had she always been a part of his subconscious? He was the angel on his own shoulder, and she was the devil prodding him to see where he would go. When she confessed, he hadn't even seriously thought of a relationship. He didn't know what one truly looked like, with his grandparents and the boarders as his example. He was overwhelmed by her change in demeanor and seemingly obsessive declarations of love. He couldn't believe it so much that he dismissed it, chalking it up to her playing games with him again. Only now he knew that they were never games. He should have known from the way adult way she kissed him at such a prepubescent age. Even when their relationship returned to something resembling normal, he felt her on him in dreams, reliving that moment, approaching and responding in different ways. He always figured puberty was just strange like that. His first kiss was hers. Her first kiss was his. He couldn't help but speculate on the next.


	10. Chapter 10

Helga wasn't one to wear makeup, but she wished she had owned some to slap on this morning. Her eyelids were swollen and crusted from the bereavement of the night before. It somehow always seemed to happen, even if she wasn't crying heavily. They usually returned to normal by midday. Before preparing her easy breakfast of cereal, she placed the cool spoon above her cheekbone to ease the swelling, a trick she had learned years before. After gathering her things, she left her house without so much as a goodbye. There was no one to say it to.

She arrived at the school, hoping that Phebs had some aspirin to chug. She'd probably want to talk, but she wasn't in the mood. As she was monotonously spinning the combination on her locker, she could hear Gerald behind her.

"Whoa, Arnold, looking good."

She tried not to turn toward them.

Their voices lowered. "What's with the big change?" His friend continued on.

"Just a part of growing up, I guess." His teenage voice elicited. "Somebody inspired me to do it." She could feel his phantom lips on hers. "That hat was too small for me anyway."

She dropped her bag on the floor at the surprise. Arnold's little blue hat was gone?! What would be in the place of where it used to sit upon his flaxen hair? Why would he leave something so precious behind, it was from his lost parents, after all! He couldn't have thrown it out, could he? Her inner dialogue stopped, as he bent down to help her with her books. While he was kneeling, she examined the vacant spot on his head. It was not some gaping hole; it simply showed where his roots began and uncovered more of his unruly locks. He did infact look more adult. Before he stood up again, she turned to her head toward the lockers. She didn't want him to be able to read the secrets of her soul through her eyes.

"Here you go, Helga." His larger hand took hers and opened it with a gentle, asking force and left the canvas strap in her palm. When he closed it again, he applied a warm pressure. She could practically feel Gerald's confusion as a hot prickling sensation rose from her collar. Then, he walked away without a word. She moved her head slowly, her eyes following his back down the hall. _Well, that was different_, she remarked to herself as she hung her bag over her shoulder and headed to her English class.

She settled down in her seat aside Phoebe who seemed particularly chipper this morning.

"Lay it on me, what's the good news?" Helga put her face in her right palm.

"You've been getting your fix of 'ice cream', haven't you?"

She was using their old code word for Arnold again. Helga breathed out through her nose. "I may have had a cone or two, but it turned out to be strawberry. I can't go back to that." She hoped her allergy analogy made her point clear enough.

"Good morning students, I need you to turn to page 132 of our latest assignment. I'll be coming around to check homework." The teacher announced.

Had she done it in all the fuss of last night? She went to dig in her bag beside Phoebe when she heard her friend squeal. She followed her gaze to her left hand, and there it was, the cerulean cap that had adorned her beloved for so many years. There was a note beside, composed in his neat yet boyish writing, 'I know you'll keep it safe.' Her eyes were stretched as wide as they could go as she held her breath for the moment that seemed like an hour. She looked over at Phoebe who was now covering her mouth and covertly glancing between the bag and her friend from behind a textbook. Helga shrugged and hid her flushed face in her work.

He could hold on to the piece of her that was a tattered ribbon because he was the one that made it important. She on the other hand, felt like she was hiding a body in her bag. There was no way she could carry that weight around. She had no right to, it had to be illegal in forty-nine states. She'd give it back to him and set his priorities straight at lunch.

##

She sat with a sandwich in hand, watching Arnold's friends that were girls run hands through his uncapped head. He had so many, they were practically lined up to touch. What could she say, it was easy to see_ why _they flocked to him. There would be more in the future. He couldn't give away something so important for a case of puppy love he seemed to develop overnight. She had to teach him a lesson to keep him from making mistakes like he had today. Their lunchroom had tables set up next to the theatre stage, where they brought in foldable chairs for any events. Behind those satin curtains she and he would have a little chat. As she saw him approaching the lunch line she followed up behind him casually. "Meet me on the stage in five minutes; don't waste my time." She spoke into his ear as she continued to the hallway entrance.

##

Helga waited in the quiet behind the curtains on the vast wooden stage. Although it was fairly dark, reflective markers were laid out in tape. They were catching the light where some Romeo would kneel, declaring betrayal upon his house. _Stupid move, buddy_. She thought as she recalled once being a Juliet opposite Arnold. _It will only lead to your untimely demise_. Although she could understand the temptation, she would be stronger than those Shakespearean losers and fight it. She saw the hallway door open and a football headed silhouette make its way towards her. The dim light played softly on his face.

"I see you looked in your bag." He spoke calmly, knowingly.

"You're darn right I did!" She retorted, placing the hat on a kitchen table that was part of a set beside her. "There is no way that you can leave this thing with me. Criminey, it feels like I'm watching a baby."

"I guess it is kind of kid-sized." He walked over, picking it up with a finger and placing it back down gently.

"Now if you'll kindly make friends with your hat again, I'll be on my way." She began to strut towards the exit.

"We were never really part of any clubs in high school." His voice broke the silence. She stopped to look at him. "But I know you would have been great in theater."

"Oh, yea? Why do you say that?" She folded her arms.

"Years ago, I remember when we were on the roof you started speaking in a way that I never heard before. It was poetic and the words were so passionate; I thought you were acting."

Her lips turned into a thin line at his recollection. "So?"

He came a step closer, but maintained a comfortable distance. "Not only could you act, but I bet you could write your own plays."

She shrugged, waving nervously, "I don't know about all that."

With another step her comfort was breached. "Or is that really you, and you're putting on an act now? Either way, you're talented."

She swallowed at his insight.

"Will you show me that you can speak in the way that you write? I'd like to hear it again."

"It... takes certain circumstances..." She brushed against the plywood wall of a fake house behind her.

"Like what?" He pressed on curiously.

"None of your beeswax, Arnoldo." _Fight_! Her mind urged her, _fight against your untimely demise!_

"Sounds like you picked up that way of speaking from your father." He speculated. "What helped you cultivate that other form?"

The plywood house resisted her movement, she was feeling light headed. "It just came to me, okay?"

He was inches from her, his cap abandoned on the table. "One sentence and I'll take my hat off your hands."

She closed her eyes tightly, trying to format a string of words that wouldn't divulge something about her undying love. She recalled a less specific personal discourse.

"_All my days have come to this,_

_My secret heart, spent in one kiss._

_And, though it comes from a pretender,_

_Not me, but Juliet the sender,_

_May he take my kiss for tender_."

The words fell quickly, breathlessly off her tongue. Ironic, but it was what was on her mind in this place. She opened her eyes and saw that he had his hat in his palm. He tilted it towards her.

"Beautiful." He remarked.

She bit her lower lip, such a word never heard before.

"That's the person I wish I'd known all along." He smiled, exiting stage left. "I don't know how you can sit comfortably with all that armor." His voice faded down the steps. Other voices could be heard as well, as he re-entered the world apart known as the high school cafeteria.

**Thanks so much for the reviews! It keeps me going. True story, my school was set up like this and I always felt exhilarated going back on the dark stage alone.**


	11. Chapter 11

The dark stillness behind the stage interrupted by the encroaching heat of her obsession felt like the inner reaches of her mind as the words fell quickly from her lips like untying some knot within her. She wondered if Brainy was watching from somewhere in the wings and chose not to reveal himself due to Arnold's presence. She wished he would, so that she could sock him to achieve some release. No matter how much she was forced to express, she felt more building up inside. Her fingers grasped the chain around her neck briefly and let go in awakening surprise as the bell rang for the next class. Luckily, it was study hall with Phoebe so she could leave it to her friend to put together the puzzle of her fragmented emotions and circumstances.

The teachers did little to monitor the room of round tables and Helga felt more sure of herself, speaking in the noise of the rowdy crowd of estrogen and testosterone. Phoebe waved from her seat by the broad windows at the back of the room. She was formulating how to relay what she was experiencing when Phoebe interjected,

"I have some discouraging news, Helga."

She took a deep breath to ready herself to carry more weight on her back. "Lay it on me, Phebs."

She sat down with the weight of what she was already carrying.

"Lila is taking credit for your work." The sentence seemed to come out like a word.

Helga sat for a moment and let it sink in, tipping back and forth on her chair. All the people she would want to know that she could write already seemed to know and appreciate her. Did it really matter?

"Eh, I wrote it off as Anonymous for a reason." She stated nonchalantly, feeling a little twist inside of her at the perpetrator.

"I'm afraid it's not as simple as all that." Her friend carried on.

Helga placed her elbows on the table, giving her full attention. "What do you mean, exactly?"

"Well," Phoebe figeted in her seat, "since there are no dissenters, her claims are garnishing popularity; from the amount of supporters comes truth..."

"Spit it out, already." Helga urged.

"Well, our English teacher favored the poetry so much that he wants to get it published and if she claimed the authorization..."

"I'd be out of a paycheck." Helga snorted.

"But, before that, out of a college due to their stance against plagiarism."

"How could I plagiarize my own work?" Helga slapped her hands on the table.

Phoebe was unflinching. "We have to stop the spread and acceptance of this lie."

Helga exhaled, running her hands through her ribbon-less hair. Her bangs flopped back onto her forehead. "But she comes off as so nice and perfectly fragile, if I confronted her it would seem like I'm bullying her. I'd be in the office in a second."

Phoebe listened.

"Besides, I'm not sure that I exactly want the stooges of this school to know that it was my diary they were reading."

Her friend nodded. "That's why we need to fight fire with fire. We need someone with exactly the same surface image as Lila, to convince those less insightful." She looked up from under her glasses.

Helga's stomach dropped, "Sweet, innocent, saintly Arnold?" She squeaked.

"He's the only way to assure a good public closure to this whole incident."

Helga bit her knuckle as she imagined putting the weight of her future in the hands of a man that had only come to appreciate her during senior year. How hardy was that foundation? How sturdy was she in her resolve? She felt herself crumbling towards the table as she put her head down. She knew that her friend was right, no matter how awkward the future course of events would be.

"Phoebe," she spoke from between her forearms.

"Yes, Helga?"

"I'm appointing you my future campaign manager." She acknowledged.

"Managing." Her friend smiled at the return in ambition.


	12. Chapter 12

This time she was the one waiting on the steps for her opposite to exit the teenage prison. She took a deep, shaking breath as she gathered the courage to further alternate her behavior and ask her long-term object of negative attention for his help, among all things. Seeing him beside his buddy, she suddenly felt the urge to flee. Suddenly, Phoebe swept in with a casual arm lock and lead him towards the parking lot. She gave her friend a wink and Helga thanked the mastermind internally. The two boys parted ways with their usual handshake. Helga stood up, her back leaning against the brick banister. She fought the urge to return to her old ways and trip his heavenly feet as he hit the bottom stair. She had no idea how to announce herself, so she roughly cleared her throat. He already seemed attuned to her presence.

"Hi, Helga." He greeted, "If you're waiting for Phoebe, it looks like she's getting a ride home from Gerald." He paused.

He probably knew full well that she was not. That cocky, arrogant, (intuitive) little... "No such luck, Football Head. It just so happens that I was headed to my daily course of menial labor at Scoops and I thought you'd like to walk me." Her heart was trying to climb out of her ribcage.

He didn't respond for a while as if debating. "If you'd like me to walk with you, there's a better way to ask."

That creep was trying to teach her manners! She fought with her inner demons. C_alm down, he's only saying that because he knows you already know polite speech but chose to communicate otherwise... He's trying to use positive reinforcement. Oh, the evils of general psychology._ The thought crossed her mind about being over the top with a feminine curtsy, but she knew he would shut her down. This was the time of alliance in the middle of a war, this was a gentleman's agreement.

She gritted her teeth and released, "Would you walk with me, Arnold?" That wasn't so bad, like pulling off a band-aid.

"I would love to." He smiled as he placed his arm in the angle unknowingly created by her hand on her hip. She yelped in surprise as he began to merrily tug her along.

##

They were half way along when she grew all-too-aware of the feeling of his peach fuzz skin rhythmically rubbing against her arm. She stopped on the street corner by a busy crosswalk and withdrew her limb from his.

"Listen, don't get any funny ideas, this venture isn't exactly a pleasure cruise."

She could see him retract as well. "So, what is it?"

She bit the inside of her cheek. "You were right, I admit it, I wrote those stupid excerpts in the paper."

"Helga... I'm proud of you for taking ownership." He praised. "And I thought I told you, they're not stupid." His hair shook in the opposite direction of his head.

She rubbed the area in front of her elbow trying to stop his clammy warmth from seeping into her bloodstream and making her feel any more lightheaded.

"Well, I wouldn't be saying this if it weren't for Phoebe. She got me into the same college as her-"

"NYU?"

"-and things have been going real swell, and I want them to keep going, but I'm in danger of losing all that because of plagiarism, even though I can't plagiarize my own work-"

"Slow down." Arnold said calmly, placing a steadying hand on her shoulder.

"That's amazing that you got into such a great school, Helga."

The corner of her mouth perked up.

"So they took a writing sample, right?"

She nodded.

"And someone else is claiming it's theirs?"

She paused. "That's the jist of it."

"I can guess who." He took his hand off her, his back now facing her. "It was Lila, wasn't it?"

She took in a sharp breath through her nose. This was going to be easier than she thought. "How did you know?" Curiosity overtook her.

"I heard her talking in History. I never knew she could be so..."

"Fake? Insecure? Everything you would never want in a girl?"

He looked at her with lidded eyes, "You sound like you're taking pleasure in this."

"Oh, no." She said looking away at the changing walk sign. "I couldn't be less interested, aside from my future being at stake. Let's move it, Football Head."

She continued the conversation as the crossed the parallel white lines on the asphalt. "What I'm proposing here is an alliance against the common enemy known as Lila so that I can simply ship off to college like I was meant to." She turned to notice him lagging behind.

"Where does that leave me?" He spoke evenly.

She couldn't tell if he was talking about his end of the bargain or... something greater. The street sign changed again and she felt a spike of adrenaline seeing him standing in the middle of the road. "Wherever you want to be, just get over here hair boy!"

He stood motionless. "Is that what you'd like?" He responded.

She tromped back over and grabbed his hand. "Yes, I'm sure. You're blocking traffic!" They walked together onto the sidewalk when she noticed their entanglement and let go. "Sheesh, don't be such a kid."


	13. Chapter 13

It was a rainy Friday. The downpour started abruptly as Helga was a few blocks from school, sans a jacket or protection.

"Where were you in April?" She cried at the gathering dark clouds, "The flowers are out already!"

After hashing out a quick plan before work yesterday, she felt a little uneasy, like the rumbling in the sky above. She was admiring the distorted reflection of the streetlights when the relentless pelting on her head stopped. Sheltering her was a large, dark green umbrella and a sincere smile.

"Arnold..." She had lost the surprise to her voice, reliving a similar moment in her head several times over the course of her short life.

"You look a little wet." He interjected, admiring the way her damp, side swept bangs clung to her left eye. Hello, again Cecile.

"Doy." She began, only to see Arnold's bemused look. "Thanks." She corrected, remembering that he was somehow seeing through her blustery exterior and that they were allies in today's endeavor. She had helped him fight a corporation without expectation of return, and he would help her maintain a rightful spot in college, sans terms defined. It was kind of nice establishing what she would at least call a friendship at this point. Certainly it was more than she had ever hoped to gain after the years of torment she had dutifully provided. And all illusions would end where they began, under the shelter of his broad umbrella.

They walked up the cement steps in silence; only the sound of rushing drains and cars in puddles amidst the continuous patter of the baptismal water. He appeared surprised when she held the door open for him.

"I ain't got all day." She added to end his wide eyed stare. She didn't want him to view her as incapable of such behavior, although she could understand why he saw her that way. Was it worth her effort to fix it?

"Thanks, Helga." He credited her, closing and shaking his umbrella outside. "At this point, Lila could learn from you."

"You're the one to teach her." She patted him on the back and leaned forward to whisper in his ear, "Give her a lesson."

He inexplicably warm with her comment as he watched her slim frame fade down the hallway.

##

There was nothing to be nervous about, he assured himself, it was the right thing to do. It was necessary. He wasn't doing this for any gain, simply to set things back on the right track. He was sure that once Lila understood the situation she would concede. She wasn't evil, just a little desperate for acceptance for some reason. Everyone had a story, maybe if she shared hers with him she wouldn't feel that way. He nodded in reception of his own logic as he approached her before History.

"How's your day, Lila?" He began awkwardly as the semi-popular girl squinted at him and tucked a wavy auburn lock behind her ear.

"I'm fine, Arnold." She spoke curtly but politely, avoiding her cliché 'ever-so' after his latest comment.

"I'm sorry I've been out of it lately," He was apologetic, "would you like to work on the upcoming project in the library later?"

She glanced over to the girls on her right who seemed to think there was benefit to working with one of the highest performing kids in the class.

"Alright." She returned. "I'm not staying long though, I have writing to do." He fought the urge to set her straight right there. He had the appointment to work on her moral compass later.

"Sounds good. See you at three." He agreed feeling justified.

##

The library was empty at three pm on a Friday; no one wanted to study on the first day of the weekend. Lila must have had something to say as well, giving up the start of her weekend. Helga was waiting aside the master planner, Phoebe, at the back of the racks with a tape recorder and writing samples if the little lady needed further persuasion.

It wasn't the first time that Helga was fearful of what words would seep for Lila's lips. Long ago the girl had found out about Helga's obsession but never spilled the beans. She always assumed that it was because she could have nothing less to do with either part of the pair. Her stomach turned at the thought that it would come up today, but she knew that even if it did, her world would remain unchanged. After all, the man had gone and disclosed her feelings _for _her. Helga and Phoebe craned their necks around the book stacks to see the two most kind and innocent saps that the school could offer, though she knew better. Something of the devil took them over on a whim, must be something about repressed souls. Of course they would be here studying on a Friday, how adorable. She rolled her eyes at Phoebe who seemed to know exactly what she was thinking. After all, this is what she was going for, in case anyone should stop by.

He pulled back the wooden seat for Lila and Helga resisted a twinge of jealousy at the preferential treatment. He was just being nice. He would be nice to a lot of girls. He was nice to her this morning... Yea, that made her feel _real_ special. She stopped the loop in her head as she took her neck back, placing her head on the cool iron bookcase. The conversation began.

"Listen, Lila, I don't want to deceive you, this isn't a study session."

Helga heard the chair creak. "What ever do you mean?"

"I mean, I want to talk about why you've been claiming someone else's poetry."

"I'm certain I haven't."

"Cut it out, please. I told you, I know who wrote it."

"Do you really?" She saw the girl lean in towards him.

"I do." He sat firm.

"How exactly did you get to know her so deeply; did she show you everything she ever wrote?"

Helga bit her lip anxiously.

"No, but she doesn't have to. I can just tell from the writing. If any of the teachers really looked at your work, I'm sure they could tell it wasn't you. I'm only here because I'm not so sure that they could tell it was her, she's kind of guarded like that."

"Oh, how charming." Lila crossed her arms. "I read her infamous work in fifth grade."

"...What?" Arnold hesitated. "You know who it is?"

"Of course I do, and the work was about you, by the way. Though with how deeply you're acquainted, I'm sure you know that by now."

There was another silence and Helga could hear her heart in her ears.

"I wasn't aware that she wrote about me."

"No? Then, I fear she'll always be a cowardly girl."

Helga's nails were digging into her palm as her knuckles grew white.

"Do you want to know why I'm doing this?"

Arnold sat and listened.

"Since you already seem to know her, I'm certain I can tell you now. She told me to never let you know. But she confessed her undying love for you, _to me_! How absurd! Do you know what that does to a girl who's coming to her own realization concerning the same thing?"

Helga examined Phoebe's stone face and wondered what kind of horrific expression was on her own.

"I like-liked you Arnold and maybe I still do. Why do you think I dated that replica cousin of yours? And in the end, even _he_ chose her. It's not _fair_." She let out a frail whimper.

Helga felt herself falling even though she was sitting. She hadn't readied herself for this outcome; the thought had never even occurred to her after the obvious turn downs. And now she felt like the bad guy, _for telling the truth for the first time in her miserable life!_ She tried to swallow against the growing tightness in her throat.

She thought maybe she'd have the summer to get to know the boy, but as usual he was practically gone within an instant. She wouldn't be surprised if he propped down on one knee after that confession.

She knew how hard it was to get over someone you obsessed about, someone you loved. That's why she was feeling that way now. And if this was going to be the way it went, she wanted to be as far away as possible.

Phoebe placed her hand atop of hers; it felt detached, miles away. Bits and pieces of the conversation were floating past her shell shocked ears.

"This wasn't the right way to go about it." She heard his regretful voice.

No it wasn't. She had to get out of here. She didn't care anymore. She wouldn't. She'd build a fortress up around herself and marry the wrong man and become an alcoholic just like her mother. Now that was what you'd call fate, not some sappy poetic happily ever after. She got up and started speed walking towards the door. Phoebe wrapped up the tape recording with a clicking noise. No one need hear any further.

"Helga..." She could hear his sweet voice at her back.

_Don't tell me how little I mean now. Don't tell me what I already know!_ Her inner voice screamed as she sped up, out the double doors following one blurry foot after the other as tears fell for her loss one final time.


	14. Chapter 14

She was about mile down the sidewalk when she heard his distant voice behind her,

"Helga, wait!"

Boy, he wrapped up that conversation with Lila pretty fast. Would she be wearing a lace or satin dress? Lilies or lilacs for Lila? Her feet moved forward fueled by the escapism she had grown accustomed to. However, she was never running from anyone; no one had followed her before. She never expected them to. In fact, it kind of ticked her off to not be able to shake him from her.

His voice was still a block behind her. "It's raining, you're going to catch a cold if you don't stop!"

It was raining? Come to mention it, she did feel a bit soaked. She looked down at her pink t-shirt clinging to her collarbone. Her mind had been ignoring all other factors, she was surprised that she made it through the crosswalk. When she looked up, it felt like a ghost town in the downpour. No cars moving on the street, no one to shove you as they walked past. There was only her and this guy that wouldn't stop shouting.

"Helga, I need you to stop, _this instant!_"

She paused at the forceful nature of his words, temporarily brining her out of her emotional fog. Somehow they had made it to the dock. She turned to see his normally wild locks now slick against his head.

"Thank you." He acknowledged, breathing heavier than usual. "I'm sorry for yelling, sometimes you make me feel so unlike myself."

"Where's your umbrella?" was all she could ask at the sight.

"I didn't have time to grab it, I was chasing you out the door!" He gestured with a hand, then placed them both on his thighs. "You would have been great at track."

The rain fell lighter and less often, as if the clouds had emptied with her footsteps. "Maybe that wasn't the question I meant to ask." Helga recomposed herself, "What are you doing here, football head? Didn't the girl that you love just hint at something more? I thought that glimmer of hope would've been enough to have you laying roses at her feet."

"I never said 'love'."

"Well, whatever 'like-like' crap analogy that the two of you came up with in elementary school!"

"Right, in elementary school... Do you think that I would have held on to a hopeless crush for so many years?"

She felt her stomach turn at disappointment in herself. He grabbed her hand. "Hopeless in the way that she wasn't who I thought she was." He corrected.

She shivered at the contact and the return of a light wind.

"It takes a special person to hold out; to believe and trust in knowing someone enough to care about them for so many years. It takes a big heart. And that is why I am able to confidently say that if anyone loves me it's you, Helga."

She blinked back her feelings.

"Lila never did. I don't know what she's thinking now, or what she was back then, but I didn't find her mysteriously at my doorstep whenever I was in trouble. She didn't take me out to fancy French restaurants, or spend a holiday by my side. She doesn't know who I am. She never made an effort to."

She could see the definition of everything that he was with those wet clothes clinging to his skin.

"Through your writing it sounds like you know me better than I know myself. So, tell me Helga, how do I feel about you?" His green eyes were intent on hers, his brow slightly furrowed as she examined his features and turned her head shyly.

"How the heck should I know?!"

He breathed in and out slowly. "Maybe I could show you, if you'll go to prom with me."

She looked back at his sincere face. Even as a kid she never had such a silly fantasy. All the sweetness would make her sick if she hadn't felt so bitter. She didn't know what to say, so she might as well say the truth.

"It's not a good idea." She spoke flatly.

"Why not?" She could see him straining against the breeze, the boy had no body fat to speak of.

"Do you want me any madder then I already am?" She squeaked. "I don't want to go back to the over-the-moon utterly lost in love with you girl that I was. I wanted coffee in Paris, roses, sailboats, the whole nine yards; even a perfume named after us, isn't that nuts?" She paused. "You thought so when I kissed you back then."

"Actually… That doesn't sound so bad… I always wanted to travel. It may be a bit irrational to look back on, but we were kids. Look at us now," He motioned, "we grew up. We couldn't go back to who we were then even if we wanted to." He smiled, "I know I'll never be the same."

She closed her eyes. "I'm not promising anything beyond what we have right now."

"So you'll go with me?"

"Yea, yea. But I'm not wearing anything froofy."

"Alright!"

"And I'm not good at dancing."

"Alright."

"And I don't know the first thing about social etiquette. Even though I tried."

"It's alright, Helga. You'll be fine." He placed a hand on hers and she was quiet, basking in his acceptance.

Slowly she pressed herself against him as they began to walk in tandem. "I'm only doing this since I'm tired of seeing you shake like a Chihuahua."

"Sure, Helga."

A gull flew into the clearing sky.


	15. Chapter 15

"I don't know why you're going to prom." Spoke two different people from two different places; Bob from his kitchen table and Gerald from Arnold's stoop.

"I took her to a dance before." Replied Arnold coolly.

"Listen, I know she's my girl's friend and all that, but she was fooling you back then. She hasn't pulled anything funny on you now, has she? You're not indebted to her for stepping on her shoe or something..."

"Gerald, it's all my choice. I was the one to ask, without any misplaced sense of servitude. Besides, do you remember how fun that night was?"

Gerald leaned back on the step, wiggling his crossed foot at the ankle. "It was pretty wild. Man, Arnold, who knew you could tango?"

"Yea. It may sound crazy, but she brought it out of me. She helps me to see another side of myself that no one else can."

"Mhm, I could see that, I just want to make sure it's your best side if you catch my drift."

They both sat in silence watching the colors of the brick buildings change with the setting sun.

Gerald began again, "That night the teacher had to drag us out of the pool and call our parents. As I recall, you sat there soaking, waiting beside Helga for hers to come."

Arnold recollected.

"But, it didn't look like you felt obligated. You were both laughing, ringing out your clothes. And teasing each other! Something I never knew you were capable of. Then your grandpa got tired of sitting around and drove you home just as I was leaving. It was strange, maybe because I'd never seen you interact with anyone like that, without moral baggage, but it felt nice."

Arnold recalled the warm feeling he had, something like finally connecting wires to get a machine working that you had been fumbling with for years, as he watched Helga's sleeping face peeking out of a towel in the back of his grandfather's car. How could he have forgotten that memory over the years?

"Oh, what a lovely idea, sweet heart!" Said Mariam, picking her head up from her placemat to interject like the dormouse. "Now, if I recall correctly, Olga was prom queen _and_ valedictorian of her class."

"Of course." Helga's spoke through her teeth.

"Maybe if you wear her old dress some of her good luck will rub off on you! What do you say?"

Helga stuffed a heaping spoonful of potatoes in her mouth. "Dunno." She mumbled through the carbs.

"None of that fairytale mumbo-jumbo will get you ready for the real world." Bob chimed in, pointing his fork at his daughter. "If you want to get a taste of a real fantasy, you should head down to the Emporium after school. Now that's a way to spend a Friday night."

"I already _have_ a job, Dad." She hissed. "And I can't wait to get out of it."

"Don't say I never offered you nothing." Bob retorted with his attention already returned to his plate.

"Why don't we go try on your sister's dress, honey? I bet it'll be adorable."

"I'm eating, Mariam. You know, that thing you do with food that doesn't involve a blender." Her plea fell on deaf ears.

"Come on now, I think it's still in the dry cleaning bag in her closet." Her mother grabbed an arm and began pulling as Helga was able to grab one last spoonful.

"Isn't she precious, Bob?" Mariam clasped her hands. "She looks just like her sister."

Helga glanced down at herself in the blue sequin dress that was a little too lose in the bust and a tad too tight on the hips. At least they were the same height, she took pride in being able to fill her sister's shoes in that manner. She was also glad that she wasn't part of that oh-so-special Barbie mold as she examined herself in her sister's full-length mirror. She felt like she was in a pageant about to beat another girl up for a crown.

"Uh-huh." Bob passed the doorframe without a glance on his way towards the television.

"It's not really my... color." Helga spun to examine to corset backing. There was no way in hell that she would wear this. But what options did she have? Maybe Phebs would have something to borrow.

##

"How exciting Helga, I'm so glad that he asked you to prom!" Phoebe squealed as the two were walking towards her house on a sunny Saturday. "What are you going to wear?"

Helga brushed it off, "Oh, you know, any old thing. Maybe you have something in your closet?"

Phoebe stopped and faced Helga. "You mean you haven't picked anything out yet? It's next week."

"Since when do I pick things out?"

A twinkle grew in her eye. "As your campaign manager, it's my duty to ensure that you're looking well for the evening. I'm taking you to Tenues de Soirée."

"Whoa now Phebs, let's not be drastic... Do you know how much girls spend there for a dress they just throw on the floor at the end of the night?"

"C'mon it'll be fun." Her friend hauled her into the boutique.

"Ello ladies, do ve have an appointment?"

"No sir, just browsing."

The girls spent the next few hours re-enacting Pretty Woman only to be kicked out for 'roughhousing and insufficient funds'.

"Eh, who needs 'em." Helga commented as the two continued on their sidewalk journey.

"We still have to find you a dress." Phoebe looked dejected.

"I could care less if I went in jeans." Helga replied as they passed the secondhand shop.

"Helga, look!" Phoebe's face brightened. She turned to examine herself in the mirror of the window, draped in a rosy vintage dress from what looked like the twenties. A small bow adorned each side of the neckline on the delicate flowing fabric. She felt a compatriot soul that had seen it all and was seeking better days.

"Pink." She scoffed. "What can I say, it grows on you."

##

The week seemed to end in a day. The night seemed to last a hundred years.

Arnold was preparing his rental tuxedo at the boarding house.

"Fifty-three scadoo! You're looking more dapper than Dino Spumoni on opening night, Shortman."

"Thanks, grandpa." Arnold smiled as he tightened his red bowtie. He didn't even have to ask what dress she was wearing as he tucked her ribbon into his front breast pocket, in the shape of a square.

"Those wacky paintings on the wall..." His grandmother sang as she waltzed with Abner, who for one reason or another was wearing a monocle opposite her fur coat.

His grandfather crossed his arms and leaned against the door frame to the hall bathroom where the boy was preparing. "I noticed you left your hat in your room. Something special happening tonight you don't want your folks to see?" The old man raised his brows.

"Grandpa..." Arnold discouraged as he uselessly combed his hair.

His grandmother unexpectedly stepped in, brushing backwards rather than up. "Of course there is. He's going to meet Eleanor Roosevelt." She spoke confidently.

"You mean the one that jumped out the kitchen window when I was in elementary school?"

His head moved with her even strokes. "The very same." She stopped with a wink.

"All the advice I have to give you on this big night..." His grandfather smiled as he placed a broad hand on his shoulder, "Is to never eat raspberries. 'Scuse me Arnold." The old man switched places with the boy and shut the door.

"Now off you go." His grandmother was at his back, "We don't want to keep the first lady waiting. Jeeves, bring around the carriage!" She called with a flourish as the animals squealed, scattering in different directions.

##

Helga decided to prepare at Phoebe's, in order to forfeit her parents' disappointment at the choice in another gown. She doubted whether they even knew that tonight was the prom. She sat at her friend's dresser with her eyes closed as she felt the brush dusting her cheekbones. She had never been great at making up herself, but good ol' Phebs had volunteered.

She opened her eyes to see her friend in a blue kimono sleeved dress with a flower pattern. The silver pin dangling from her bun and the use of contacts made her look like someone else, one of her ancestors perhaps.

"Looking good, Phebs." She commented in earnest.

"You should look at yourself." Her compatriot smiled as she turned to face the mirror.

Who was she? She had always worn something similar to a dress but she never felt like it fit her image. Standing there looking from her white heels to the ribbon around her waist and the bows beneath her wavy styled hair, she ended up at a face she had seen in magazine but never on herself. She touched her jaw. It wasn't that she was covering up anything like she had when she tried to style herself as a kid. She was all there. Just, this time, how she felt inside was reflected on her face; light, happy and ethereal. Arnold better not be picking her up in a pumpkin.

"Thanks again, Phoebe." She smiled as she grasped her friend's hand. "I'm not sure how I'll ever repay you."

The girl in blue beamed as she gave her friend's hand a squeeze and began to exit the room. She said something in a quiet voice that Helga couldn't quite catch, "You can invite me to the wedding."

**Thank you reviewers, for being so sweet **


	16. Chapter 16

It wasn't any pumpkin, nor was it any grand limousine. It was his grandfather's Packard in which Arnold pulled up. He felt a strange anxiety and anticipation as he stared at the façade of Phoebe's family home from the street. He had parked behind Gerald's car on the side of the curb, and he could hear the boy laughing inside. Helga's impersonation of Principal Wartz came on the breeze, along with the flapping curtains from the open window. A high clear chime rang from a hook by the door frame. His stomach tightened, he really hoped they were getting along. They had both been such a big part of his life, although not always on equal terms.

He climbed the steps with a shuffle of his old patent leather shoes. They were his father's, a present dug out from grandpa's storage. He couldn't believe that they fit. That only meant that he was years closer to the age his father was when he disappeared. Strange to think of.

"Hey, Arnold!" Gerald answered the door.

Funny, he couldn't recall ringing the bell.

"Your date's got a pretty spot on impersonation... You okay, man? You're looking pale." His friend's arm was on his shoulder.

The contact brought him back into the moment. "Yea, I'm good."

"Hard to believe it's Helga G. Pataki."

"Gerald, we talked about this."

"No, I mean, it's hard to believe _it's Helga G. Pataki_." He brought the boy inside, "Take a look."

Any self-doubt and disparaging thoughts were replaced by the vision before him, a girl as innocent on the outside as her heart had always been inside.

She wrapped a finger around the chain of a heart shaped locket at her neck. "How's it going, Football Head?"

Her confident voice assured him that it was truly her. The lack of a scowl and the presence of a sincere, reassuring smile meant more than anything else that the girl could wear. His friend elbowed him after an untold number of seconds. He swallowed as he tried not to sound like the eighth grade version of himself, "Hey, Helga."

She strode up to him, slightly taller in heels. He couldn't help but wonder whose genetics caused this plight; probably his mother's from the scare amount of pictures he had.

"Nice pocket square." She lightly flicked the fabric that came from a source of which only the two knew. "You fix up well."

"Thanks." He could feel an empty space inside of himself filling up.

"And what do you think about her?" Arnold looked over to see Phoebe with her arm around Gerald in the fading light by the living room window. He felt his pulse rise.

"Pictures, everyone gather around!" Phoebe's mom broke the tension. She got a shot of him slipping a daisy corsage onto her wrist before she returned to the portfolio of her daughter.

"You seemed to like them when you had amnesia that one time." He justified.

"It's beautiful." a soft look came over her.

"So are you." He whispered. He wasn't aware that he had spoken until he saw the fuchsia on her face.

It vanished as she gave him a light shove on the upper arm. "I thought I told you, no mushy stuff."

He recalled an earlier conversation as the couples were walking out to their prospective cars, 'The challenge makes me like her even more'. There would never be a girl more challenging, or rewarding, than Helga Pataki.

##

They walked into the ballroom of the hotel where a live band was in full swing. Eugene tripped over a cord to the speaker and had the punchbowl on his head within seconds.

"I'm okay."

Arnold was about to lend a hand when Sheena lifted the walking accident. He looked to Helga and his grin mirrored hers. They laughed. What was it he had said the week before? This was his night to show her how he truly felt. But it was hard to explain, it wasn't an easy, safe infatuation from afar. It was up close and under your skin. It was more than a friendship, although they had spent as much time together as his closest acquaintances. It was a foundation with only two options: to be built upon or be demolished. He had put his little blue hat in the ring. Was he willing to fight?

Rhonda Wellington Lloyd paid a visit to the prom, attending hers in the adjoining (more expensive) hotel's ballroom for her private school. How fortuitous that they should be on the same night. Nadine and Harold walked up and started to chat. He was attending with Patty while Nadine was with Peapod kid. Rhonda made sure to mention that she had gone stag, perhaps it was in fashion. Her eyes scanned the room full of previous classmates as her eyes locked with Helga's. Her head turned quickly towards Arnold.

"She saw me!" She whispered covering the side of her face with her palm.

"Why wouldn't you want her to?" Arnold asked, pouring a glass of punch (from the new bowl) for the both of them. "You look great."

"Watch it with the compliments, hair boy. You might hurt yourself." She teased. "Oh, I don't know, I never quite fit in to her 'circle.'" Helga tried to hide behind her shorter escort. "She'll probably find something out of order to berate me about. This dress is about a hundred years before her taste."

The sound of Jimmy Choo's could be heard stopping at Helga's back. "Arnold, darling!" Rhonda gave him a peck on each cheek, her red academy award dress sweeping the floor. "It's been ages. Who's the lovely lady you're with this evening? She looks simply goash."

Helga's back was against Arnold's. "You mean you don't recognize her?" He probed.

"Quite certain that I don't, but I've been out of the loop. Have you finally gotten a girlfriend? She seems shy. Why don't you introduce her to your old friend and make her feel more comfortable?"

"She's my date." Arnold corrected the formality. "And she is kind of shy, always has been." He added with a glance over her shoulder. "Maybe she'll come to you later in the night when she's ready to talk."

"Alright then." Rhonda shrugged, "Nice to meet you dear; good to see you, Arnold."

He gave Helga's hand a brief squeeze as the socialite was walking away. Then the unexpected happened. He could feel Helga's back peel from his as she stood beside him, facing Rhonda.

"After all these years, you can't recall a face Rhonda, darling?" Helga's poised voice elicited.

The girl turned at the familiar taunting speech. "…Helga?" Her voice inclined.

Arnold beheld his date. The girl who only seconds ago was using him as a shield was now blooming with self-assurance. He admired that.

"You look… Amazing!" Rhonda grinned. "That hair, and that dress is so Gatsby-esque!"

"What, this old thing?" She joked, it really was timeworn.

"And after all these years, you two are here together." She marveled.

Arnold and Helga exchanged a glance and a blush before returning their focus to Rhonda.

"Maybe my fortune teller was on the money after all." She put a gloved hand up to her ruby lips.


	17. Chapter 17

"This is getting too weird."

Helga exclaimed as the two walked out on the balcony to escape the heat of a thousand teenagers crammed into one room. She dangled her arms over the edge of the banister, looking out onto a lake surrounded by ponderosa pines. The moon's broken reflection shimmered on the surface. It was full, maybe that's why things were so crazy.

"Why do you feel that way?" asked Arnold as he stepped up on the rail, making himself taller than her. The soft sole of his father's leather slipped on the iron.

"Careful!" She panicked as she wrapped an arm around his suit sleeve, bringing him closer to her. His eyes traveled over her face, before she felt he was sturdy enough to let go. "I don't need to see your football head splattered over the ground. That'd be a way to end the evening."

She walked along the expanse of the patio, "Everyone's just being so... Nice."

Arnold watched her pacing with his elbows over the back of the railing. "And that's strange?"

She paused to look up at the boy silhouetted by moonlight. How could anyone not fall in love with those soft welcoming features, that kind acceptance… "Maybe not for you." She noted, "But it seems like every day since birth has been a struggle for me just to try and get along. Now I'm here living out my nine year old fantasy with everyone's involvement and approval. Stinky's all, 'Gorsh Helga, you're looking mighty perty.'"

He stepped down from the ledge, "That's because they're seeing the real you." He felt a strange burning in his chest and throat, "...And that was nice of him to say."

Helga noted the conflicted look on the boy's face. "But what?" She crossed her arms.

Arnold looked over at his escort as his heart leapt. "What do you mean?"

She took a step closer to him. "Your face is betraying your moral standards."

He put his fingers up to his narrowed lips and tried to let go of what he was feeling.

She gently took his hand away to view his expression. "Don't try to hide it hair boy," She prodded, "You want the real me, this is the real you."

He flushed, "What are you trying to say?"

She grinned, "You're jealous, aren't you?"

He turned away towards the lake. "No, of course not. That doesn't help anyone."

She brought herself beside him, "That doesn't mean that you don't feel it, or that it isn't there. There's a spectrum of emotions; you can't fully feel one until you've experienced them all. We can't maintain positive indifference indefinitely."

He felt flustered and faced her, "So what if I am? I'm not perfect."

She laughed, "Well Hallelujah, that's a load off my back. Nobody can live up to that expectation."

He breathed in and out. "You're right. I've tried."

Her hand lingered on his, "Even with flaws, it doesn't mean that you can't be perfect in someone else's eyes." She recollected her moments spent praising the ground he walked on, cursing it simultaneously. "Besides, I like that disconcerted look on your face." She tapped his chin softly with her fist.

He smiled. "Thank you Helga, I never knew that you could be so... Sweet. You're right, tonight is weird. Or maybe I should say different. I don't know, you're better at finding the right thing to say. Come to think of it, I never felt that way before. Why did you hide the person that I'm seeing now?"

"Same reason you don't want me seeing that mug of yours." She pulled her hand away slowly and rubbed her arm. "I guess you could say that I was scared. Early on I wore my heart on my sleeve and I got made fun of for it. Either that, or when I put it out there it was ignored completely."

"I'm sorry that happened." He was growing aware of the absence of her warmth. "I can promise you that it won't happen around me."

She smiled warily, remembering the day she sheltered herself with her books in lieu of his umbrella or the night when she spoke the truth from beneath his window only to be dismissed or that time she had decided that she would be nice when they worked together on that project. That boy wouldn't have kept that promise. Could a teenage version of him pick up the slack?

"I've been wracking my brain to try to show you how I feel about you." He felt the blood coursing through his veins.

"Come up with any answers?" Her hand remained on her elbow, crossed over her body. Always on guard.

The band began to play a familiar tantric tune. "Like I said, I'm good at stating what's right and helping people along that path. But with my feelings, I can't voice them so clearly. I never really have. So, I requested this song from one of the first moments I began to feel the way I do today." He placed one hand behind his back, the other was raised to her with an open palm. "Will you be my partner?"

She wasn't sure if there was a double entendre to the meaning so she replied by placing her hand in his, "Sure, it takes two to tango."


	18. Chapter 18

He grasped her hand and moved his fingers to explore the spaces between hers and back again, palm to palm. As a lead, he pulled her towards him in a firm yet gentle motion. They were parallel, chest to chest and so close that a card between them would not slip to the floor. He trailed his other hand slowly under her arm and towards her back, ending at her shoulder blade. His touch was tentative, then safe and endearing, but as the dance continued it felt daring at her waistline. His eyes were upon hers, then traveling towards their entwined hands. Helga followed his gaze and movement. As a child she would have wanted to take the lead as well, but in her current state she was willing to see how much of a leader he could be. Since he couldn't explain verbally, she had to take any physical cues he had to offer. What was she feeling now? Closeness, support and guidance. His feet started to move and he carried her along with him. His hand was steady at her middle. Why did he keep it so? Because he wanted her to know that he was a gentleman, but perhaps would be willing at her request. She felt her heart speed with her feet, and she tried not to look down for fear of tripping over them. His steps took them in a circle, then they repeated. It was a figure eight, or was it the symbol for infinity? There went her nine year old brain, kicking in again. The tango became faster, a violin arcing over the instruments. She remembered the words he had spoken years ago, _don't worry,_ _you're in good hands_.

He bent her at the waist moving her away from him and pulling her close against him when they reunited. She was fevered with the symbolism he was eliciting from her already inclined mind. Separation was inevitable, but somehow, the two would always come back together. And the feeling when they did... It seemed as if they were figuratively and metaphorically dancing around a fate that both of them would not speak to another. All the while they were sharing this moment privately on the balcony when Arnold began to lead with his back towards the double doors. Another metaphor, he was guiding her towards a debut. Was she ready to make her eternal secret public knowledge? She began to dig in her heals, but they wouldn't catch on the smooth concrete.

"It'll be alright." He whispered into her right ear. "You can trust me, if you accept me as your partner."

She looked into his green eyes that seemed a darker shade. She felt herself quivering inside from the fear of her assent, and the exhilaration of the offer. Oh, how did the boy know just how to break her? Wasn't she made out of stronger stuff than this?

He could see the confliction on her face. "Look at my hand Helga," He soothed, "you don't have to look anywhere else." She glanced at his broad palm pressed against hers, then back at his smile. "We're the only ones in this dance."

Then it hit her. This moment wasn't about her testing her resolve, she had spent years knowing exactly what she was made of. All of her writing, all of the final moments of her senior year were spent letting go of inhibitions, of her self-destructive behavior. This was her time to be free of everything that held her back. That gave her comfort as she fell into step and entered the ballroom, ignoring everything but the man in front of her and the rhythm he offered.

The guarded part of herself hated the silly smile that wouldn't leave her lips as he spun her around and around until the music slowed to a drawn out pitch and he dipped her, holding her safely in his arms and they exchanged stares that searched one another's faces, feeling each other breathe. The music ended on a sweet scale as his lips met hers softly and she was back on her feet before the final note. Somehow it all happened while her eyes were closed.

She blinked breathlessly as Arnold bowed, "Thank you for the dance, Helga." He lifted her hand to his lips and pressed them briefly there as well.

The silence was awakening in between songs as she turned to realize the various faces that were turned in their direction. Not all of them of course, but the recognizable few. Phoebe squealed gleefully, Gerald stuck out his lower lip and nodded his head, Harold spilled his drink with his mouth hanging open as if it were unhinged, and Rhonda's stern face turned into one of excitement as she yelled, "I call dibs on the next one!" Her hand flopping violently at the wrist.

Arnold's hand remained interlaced. "Sorry Rhonda, it looks like all my dances belong to her." He smiled in Helga's direction as she played with the locket at her neck. She patted herself on the back for not fainting, or punching, or running a victory lap waving a banner. A warm buzzing climbed to the tips of her ears, until the next song played and everyone returned to their moves.

There was no giggling, no pointing nor mockery. She had to laugh herself, thinking that she was important enough to elicit such a response. As she looked at the crowd of moving people, she realized that everyone in that room was an insignificant speck to the world, and that was just fine. She glanced over at the boy holding her hand and gave it a squeeze as they smiled and returned to the foray. The rest of the world had always been insignificant to her, because tonight and every night before, she was preoccupied with a certain football head. That evening, all of her dances were his, and she wouldn't have had it any other way.

Rhonda was heading towards the entrance as she was finishing her chat with Nadine. It was time to return to the glamor that was her privileged prom. On her way, she bumped into someone going solo to the event as well.

"Hello tall, dark and fashionable frames." She gaped. "Are those Gucci?"

"Why yes, they are. You have good taste." He gave her a white grin from under his neatly styled hair. "Care to dance?" He offered a hand.

"I've got nothing better to do." She accepted with a yawn.

The song was vibrant and so was he. He shook her from her societal norm. He seemed familiar, but she couldn't say that she'd met anyone quite like him at her current school. Did he go to their elementary school? Harold trotted alongside as he watched the girl mirroring the moves without inhibition.

He crowed, "Look Patty, Rhonda's dancing with Curly!" His date gave him a silent elbow to the side which made him double up.

Rhonda stopped moving. "Wait a minute…Curly?_The_ Curly?"

"The one and only, my lady." He responded in a deep, charismatic voice.

What wicked things puberty could accomplish. She stuck her tongue through her teeth and tried to wipe him from her hands. She could hear Nadine's muffled laughter behind her. Why hadn't her friend thrown herself in front of her?

She could see him wink from behind his designer glasses. Since when did his family come into money?

"Call me." He stooped and handed her a number, bopping back onto the floor while still facing her.

"I never..." She huffed as she looked down and felt a certain fluttering, nauseating sensation. She crumpled it up and stuck it in her Louis Vuitton clutch. No use in adding litter to the floor. Strange night, indeed.


	19. Chapter 19

**For those looking forward to prom, at prom, hated prom, loved prom or ignored prom completely.**

Arnold proved to be good to his word and spent the night dancing with Helga. She had to admit, the boy was pretty good. She imagined his loony grandma as the instructor to various olde timey social dances, reliving her glory days. Whenever that was. It was nice that his grandparents gave him so much attention. That was something she missed growing up. They both were lacking in family dynamics, yet they had come to appreciate the lot they had been given in life. Even if it wasn't perfect, it was what made them who they were. As the night continued, he taught her the Charleston and she caught on quickly. It was easy to spin and kick her legs like a school girl with him as her inspiration. A silly feeling kept spreading from her fingers to her toes, she fought to keep it down so that he could see who she was inside; missteps and all.

She almost sat out on the slow dances. Even if they were easy, the elongated proximity and the smell of the balm in his combed through locks were enough to reduce her to a puddle of mush. She didn't want to go scaring him off as she had before. Whenever she did turn away pretending to get a glass of water, he would be there with a cup; ever dedicated to improving her evening. The boy obviously had overwhelming tendencies of his own. She could see how despite his perfect nature, any girl he set his eye on may be frightened by the prospect of absolute commitment. It may have been a little odd to be on the receiving end of such devotion, but she relished in it. Perhaps it came from her constant lack thereof. She imagined their relationship would offer an interesting balance, filling the prospective gaps. Like he said, this was how he knew to show his feelings. It was good to understand that, but the back of her word-driven mind had always craved verbal affirmation.

"Attention everyone." Good old Mr. Simmons had come to chaperone. He grew sidetracked. "Look at all of you here tonight, you've all grown so much." He started to dab at his eyes.

"Cut to the chase, already!" Helga spurred him on, "We don't need to see any waterworks."

Her classmates giggled. "I missed you too, Helga." He responded with his hand on his hip. "Well then, it's time to announce tonight's prom king and queen." He unfolded a piece of paper to the sound of a snare drum. "Ladies and gentlemen may I present to you your queen, Lila!"

Mock surprise spread on her freckled face as she walked up towards the front of the dance floor by the podium. A waterfall braid cascaded over her shoulder. Her white, lace dress swished with each step. It reminded Helga of an apron; the girl was practically destined for maternal slavery. She mirrored Lila's fake expression to Arnold who laughed, recalling how spot on her interpretation of the girl could be. He suddenly felt a twinge of guilt for calling her Lila that one Halloween. Why did the brain always chose to bring up bad events at perfectly good moments?

As the two were distracted in their joking, Mr. Simmons continued crowning her. "Such a sweet girl, you deserve it." He paused as he opened another envelope. "And, oh my gosh, the prom king has always been an upstanding citizen as well! May I present to you your king, Arnold!"

The couple stopped laughing and looked wide-eyed at one another. It was as if all the noise had stopped in the large, teen-filled room. Sure the guy had a lot of friends, no wonder he was on the ballot. But, sorry to say, she never would have picked either of them as winners. Where was the meathead jock and bimbo cheerleader? What could she say, stereotypes weren't what they used to be.

"Helga, I..." Arnold looked pleadingly at his date.

Helga looked from him to the concern on Lila's face as the queen bit her glossy lip. Now that, was precious. She tried to be like Arnold and do the righteous thing as she cleared her tightened throat, "It's alright, hair boy. Go on up and get your plastic crown. Don't let the power get to your head."

"The two will be sharing the last dance this evening. So, once again, come on up, Arnold!" Mr. Simmons stalled.

"I made a promise..." Arnold whispered tensely as he held onto Helga's hand. "All of my dances are yours. Especially the last one."

Helga's lip started to quiver before she bit the inside of her cheek. There were too many people watching and waiting to throw a selfish fit now. She couldn't take it anymore, time to revert to the old Helga Pataki and get this over with. "Come on." She locked elbows with him and dragged him to the front of the room, placing him ceremoniously by Lila, making sure to exchange a lingering glance as she put the crown atop his head. "Let's get this show on the road, Simmons." She slapped her old teacher on the back and returned into the safe anonymity of the crowd.

He squeaked at the air rushing out of his lungs, before finding his voice again. "Erm- yes. Thank you Helga. Alright DJ, play us a little Spumoni!" He waved with a flourish as the music began.

Arnold and Lila exchanged awkward glances. "Hi." He spoke curtly.

"Hello, Arnold." She replied in a small voice. "Shall we dance?" She held out her hand.

He resisted for a second, searching the crowd for his date but not seeing her amidst the bodies. "If it'll get everyone moving." He sighed, taking her hand as if he were testing hot water.

Helga could see the two talking from her safety at the back of the dance floor. Seeing Lila in that white dress and him in that tuxedo made her think of the nights she woke up screaming in a cold sweat. The ever-present frustration inside of her welled as she broke the chain around her neck. It was like a collar, with her owner's face hidden inside a metal heart. She didn't like feeling like property to someone who wasn't hers as well. She had seen how well a lopsided relationship worked from her parent's example. More like two people just living together, tolerating one another. She had told herself that wouldn't be her life. There would be love, love, so much love! Utterly ridiculous. The crowd became wavy through the water in her eyes as she let her collar fall to the floor. Logically, she knew it was childish, she had literally pushed him to do it, but she didn't want to watch him dance the last dance with someone else. She turned on her exit toward the parking lot to the tune of the crooner's voice _...My last bow._

##

After a moment of stepping backward and forward with Lila, she spoke up. "Arnold, I'm fairly certain I saw you dance much better than this before."

He felt himself tighten up inside. "I had some inspiration." He looked to the crowd for a moment.

"Seems that you're trying to find it again." Her voice was melancholy. "Listen, Arnold, I know that I'm not as exciting as I had hoped to be." He turned back to her, her auburn eyes cast down. "I almost never get mad, but I find this series of events ever-so vexing." She freed his hand and stepped back. They weren't even in proper formation to begin with. "She made me feel that, and I know that she made you feel it too." She pointed to the door with a sad smile. "Go, be inspired. Feel all the things that I can't, and tell me about it later. I'll keep your secret too."

"Thank you, Lila." He clasped her hand before his feet started moving on their own. "Keep expressing yourself, it sounds like you can feel things just fine!"

As he passed Phoebe and Gerald, they both pointed to the door. He nodded on his way. Before exiting, he placed the crown atop Eugene's head whose eyes gleamed with consecration.


	20. Chapter 20

The light caught his eye on a small, golden, heart-shaped object that was laying on the edge of the dance floor near the exit. He paused a moment to examine what was Helga's abandoned locket with a broken chain. Why would she leave something that had been a defining piece of her on the floor? Was it taken from her? He snatched it up on his way. As he held it in his hands, his fingers brushed over the slightly open clasp. Come to think of it, she always seemed to be looking at something sort of like a locket as a kid. He caught furtive glances of her every so often, but was never quite able to hear what she said. A voice inside of him that often stayed silent until Helga was involved spoke up, _what could be inside?_ He was certain that it wasn't a picture of her parents, or her sister. Was it another relative? A pet? He recalled her parrot being eaten in elementary school. Was it some superstar she had a crush on? No, she wasn't like the other girls. He'd never heard a peep out of her about any pop idol, male or female, ever. A curiosity rushed over him as he felt the torn, laminate, image with his index finger. His better moral sense fought the urge to look, until he persuaded his conscience that it could have something to do with her disappearance. As he decided to take a swift peak, he stopped on the stairwell before the exit to the parking lot. There he was in black and white.

##

It was an overwhelming sort of feeling that sent him back through time, pausing at the rooftop and flying through his elementary years of taunting and brute force. Then- even then, did she carry his image like a wish around her neck? He thought he had known Helga, after all they had been classmates for years. But as he sat there staring at his worn photo smile, he knew nothing. He felt the world spin as he sat on the steps and snapped the locket shut as if closing Pandora's Box. Remorse washed over him for his transgression of physically and metaphorically looking into Helga's heart without her consent. A lot of things made sense now, and yet they didn't. All of those wasted years. Why had she been so cruel to him if she liked him? Arnold swallowed against the sickness in his stomach as his fingers drifted over the frayed ribbon that covered his heart. He could feel her through the fabric. She was scared. She was a child. It was her protection; he knew the safety in a world of fantasy without rejection. Then a strange thought came over him, _if she had been nice, would they have been together tonight?_ He imagined a rewritten history. _No... It couldn't have happened any other way. They wouldn't... _Arnold thought as he looked up resolutely at the revolving door across the lobby. She was a challenge, a riddle, an ever-evolving, complex individual. That substance which was lacking in other girls captivated him and made him feel the way he did tonight. Sure, he wasn't into being tormented. He didn't want to be bullied like he had been as a kid, but he was able to distinguish that as a part of both of their development. It helped him to see that there were reasons people behaved the way they did. It even caused him to express latent emotions within himself, bad or good, that he wouldn't dare speak to anyone else.

And there were those moments, brief and shinning, where she was selfless and kind. He was either too shocked to comprehend them, or she was furtive about her agenda. Although he wished he would have appreciated them more... That feeling when he saw her happy tonight was like nothing else in the world. Losing her was feeling like nothing else. The motivation rushed to his feet again as he placed the locket safely behind her ribbon. He was starting to form a collection of the pieces of him she'd left behind.

##

She was walking, feeling the warm night air rise from the asphalt. It wasn't necessarily walking away from anything, but to clear her mind from the illogical fury and pain that plagued her from time to time. She didn't really know if it was working. She didn't really know if it ever worked.

"Helga!" Came a cry from the far end of the lot.

She could see him clearly, backlit by the lights of the hotel. She was not quite under a streetlight, but she was sure he could see her silhouette as well. She felt excited and was simultaneously appalled at her sentiment. Her heart and mind were always at war with one another: Love, hate, adore, loathe. And yet...

The sound of his patent leather boots on the tar stopped interrupting the cicadas. "It always seems like you're leaving me breathless." He took in oxygen after his run.

"About time you knew how it felt." She smirked.

"What?" He looked up from his hunched position, a blush spreading on his face. It was contagious.

"I mean, it was nothing that I did, football head. You're the one always running around like a chicken with your head cut off."

"Is that so?" He smiled, impervious to her snarky nature. "I wonder if you would act that way, if you knew what I know."

She crossed her arms as her heart sped up, "And what's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing." He felt a little guilty in his pleasure at seeing her flushed and panicking with no way to guard herself from what was already in her heart.

"That's what I can't stand about you hair boy," She threw her hands up, "maybe someday you'll learn to use your words to communicate with those lacking in telepathic power."

He responded with laughter. She huffed, then felt lighter at her ability to evoke joy. "Listen, Arnold," She began genuinely, "It's not like I'm mad at you for doing what you were put on this earth to do, winning crowns for being liked and sharing heart-felt moments with a crowd of adoring fans..."

His lips thinned for a moment. "It wasn't like I even wanted to do any of that; you brought me up there. What was it that caused you to leave?"

She looked up from under her thinner yet characteristically full brows, "I'm just so sick of nothing going right. Being compared and left wanting. Nothing working out. Nothing being the way that I had hoped it would be."

"Do you mean me?" He inquired, pointing to his blameless self, as she felt her adrenaline spike.

"No..." She shook her hands. "Actually, you're the only thing in this crazy life that has lived up to my ideal. Imagine that."

He felt is stomach rise. "Then, what is it?" He prompted.

She turned away from the positive intention imploring from his eyes. She felt lesser for feeling the way she did. "I've always dealt with being alone, being ignored. And I thought I did pretty alright by myself." She sighed as she spoke quietly. "But, for some strange reason, I just can't take it from you."

"Even if that means throwing a spitball at my head?" He said flatly.

"You got that right, bucko." She admitted as she went on pacing further away from him, "And seeing you dancing with Lila, I couldn't stop my wacked out brain from imagining..."

From behind her, she felt his fingers float over her bare shoulder, twirl her hair and tug softly.

"Hey!" She yelped in surprise, not hurt, as she turned to face him with a flushed expression.

"It seems I can't deal with being ignored either." he smiled.

She rubbed her scalp cautiously at the strange tingling sensation, "Yea, well, I guess I deserved that over the years..." He smoothed her hair behind her ear in apology. She was sure that he felt guilt-ridden trying to empathize with her bullying behavior.

"A lot has happened over the years." His voice soothed. "Remember the April Fools dance?"

"Oh yea." She grinned, "I got you good."

"We got each other good." He corrected before coughing at his unintentional innuendo.

She looked down as she twiddled her thumbs. "Even if it was under false pretenses- that dance, crazy as it was, felt right without the pressure and hype and expectation of prom."

"Don't forget the pool." He added.

"Nothing like a pool to cool you off after a blistering tango." She joked.

He rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, there's one on my rooftop, if you'd like."

She felt her throat tighten. Did this innocent, righteous peach of a man just invite her over to his place? Calm down Helga old girl, he must really have a pool (_although you never saw it before_) and just wants you to swim in it (_in what, in your prom dress?_).

He saw the confliction on her face. "It's nothing big, just a kiddie pool grandma set up on the first warm day. We could stick our feet in."

She mentally kicked herself for her wicked thoughts. This was Arnold, after all. Although her heart and her head still opposed one another. She sighed at her additional acceptance, "As long as Stinky hasn't brought a turtle."


	21. Chapter 21

It was an odd feeling, walking up the worn concrete steps to the door she had always avoided. For her, approaching it voluntarily had always meant an end to her childhood fantasies. Several times she had envisioned knocking on it and divulging the secret that festered in her heart, each had its own circumstance and outcome. She anxious about opening that door and standing on the other side. Her feet stalled in the darkness as she felt a hand grip hers in a kind, encouraging manner.

"C'mon. Don't worry." He smiled at her newfound shyness. "My grandparents are probably asleep if it makes you feel any better."

Asleep... _asleep?_ Why would that matter to her? Were they supposed to be hiding or something? The foreign fear of a darker side to her angel crept up in the back of her mind, as if everything that she knew him as was just some shiny veneer. Visions of cheesy horror movie openings spun like a cinema reel. Then, there was a tear in the film tape. Easy girl, he wasn't that type of guy. She took a breath along with a step forward. The recesses of her mind questioned, but wouldn't it be nice? She swatted her arm to break the images that followed.

"You alright?" He asked, examining the red mark.

"Yea, lousy mosquitos." She trailed off as he looked from her arm to her eyes and she couldn't take the lie. "What are you waiting for, football head?" She stepped inside with a flourish as he followed.

##

So this was the other side; a homey, communal, sturdy, wooden feel. And a smell as if someone had blown out a Yankee candle, any kind. There was no lion waiting for her on the hand-woven entry rug. He silently took off his shoes and she followed suit. The sound of a television could be heard along with muffled laughter from the tenants' rooms. He grabbed his pair gently in the same manner as her hand. Either those were important, or she was just about in the same category as shoes. Her eyes drifted over the vintage style.

"Where'd you get those kicks?" She initiated; he didn't respond. The awkwardness rose. Could he sense her absurd jealousy over footwear? "Er- I was just wondering if it was from the same second-hand shop as my dress." She struggled to correct his perception.

The two were climbing the staircase slowly to avoid the squeaky steps. He paused and she could only see his back, nearly crashing into it with her momentum. "They were my father's." His voice was tight and she could hear the child in it.

She felt her stomach drop as she longed to see the expression clinging to that exquisite bone structure. She wanted to see what no one else could; she wanted too much. She glanced down, feeling ashamed at her only handling of the situation during Parent's Day in the past. How she would have handled it differently. How did she imagine it should go, again? She acted out the scene her mind had played over in correction of her inadequate actions. She placed her arms around his back, across his chest gently.

"I'm sure he would be proud of you. I know they both would be." In the silence she knew now that there was really nothing she could do to change the fate of a cold world.

"Grandpa used to tell me stories... He would say to me, 'You've got your father's hands and your mother's heart'; but when I look down, when I look at me, I see nothing of them. I barely knew them." His voice shook.

She heard her own voice enough times to know what that meant. She rose a step to view the moonlight catching in the corners of his eyes. An irrepressible urge within her brought her lips to his. Though she regretted it almost immediately, not knowing if it was of any comfort. The television continued in the still, humid air as she pulled back.

"I'm sorry." She whispered. It was too dark to see his expression.

"Don't be." She could hear him returning to himself. "That's the first time in a long time that you've been the one to kiss me."

For a second she was glad for the darkness as her face hummed with warmth. "Shut up!" She shoved him playfully as he held onto her arm and they tripped up the stairs, ending with him seated and holding her up on his lap.

A light flooded the hallway with the noise of their fall. "One of by land and two if by sea..." came Grandma's suspicion-filled voice from inside the bedroom. "The British are coming!"

For a moment, Helga feared she might ride a hobby horse around the house waking her patrons.

"Not tonight, Paul Revere, come back to bed." Mumbled Grandpa.

The light disappeared after Arnold and Helga caught a glimpse of themselves tangled in the stairwell. They quieted their laughter as they unfolded. _His lap_, her inner child screamed, _his lap!_

"We still have to make it up mine." He reminded.

"I think I can manage, I'm not so sure about you." She tried to catch her breath from the unexpected excitement.

##

Strings of old, large, white bulbs like Christmas decorations hung from the water tower and various parts of construction on the flat roof. They swayed and made a soft tinking noise in the warm breeze. Aside the wooden picnic table was a small, round, plastic tub with ducks imprinted on the side.

"Sweet pool." She joked. "You allowed to throw parties up here?"

"Only for those special enough to attend." He replied.

"Where'd you pick up that line?" She said playfully as she approached the poolside, pausing her upbeat behavior as she noted the roses floating in the water. "Arnold..." She spoke to her reflection, moving her glance to the boy who remained in his tux sans shoes. She was in stockings, feeling the grain of the tiles beneath her feet. "I can't..."

He brought his hand to hers. "You promised to give me tonight. Even if that's all I get."

Her eyes searched his as he brought out the large old boom box from when he confronted Harold. She wondered, for a second, if the old fashioned boy had made a mix tape as a soft song began to play. "And as I promised," He bowed and offered his hand. "Will you have my last dance?"


End file.
